Ride
by kris salvador
Summary: Bella wanted to fulfill a fantasy - to be groped inside a crowded train. She gets her wish and more, when a sex-starved ex-convict decides she's fair game. ALLHUMAN. Mature but with plot.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: This piece of crap is based on SMeyer's repressed libido and is beta'ed by a good, good friend of mine who will remain unnamed for the moment. Thank you, darling.**

**EXPLICIT.  
**

**Prelude Part I  
**

**XXX**

I'm not what most people would call a horny girl.

I've only had sex with my boyfriend, and I have had only one in my entire life. I've never gone out of my way to look for sex. I do look at porn, but only out of boredom, and the times I actually masturbate are few and far between. However, during my first year in college, I did something that few girls would think could actually happen, and even fewer girls would've imagined doing.

It was during summer after my freshman year at Evergreen State College in Tacoma. My father, police chief of rainy Forks, deemed it absolutely necessary for me to take up Law, Justice or Public Policy so I could be a productive member of society. Yeah, go Geoducks! I'd just split up with my first (and only) boyfriend and there was no one, not one, who'd piqued my interest. .

One Monday morning, Rosalie Hale, the greatest bitch in the entire universe who was unfortunately also my roommate, came home indignant. Abso-fucking-lutely furious. She told me that her boyfriend got into a fight at the Tukwila station on their way back from Seattle because some fucker had the gall to feel her up, and then blamed the rocking motion of the train. Of course, boyfriend #567, a jock named Emmett, wouldn't stand for it. The men got into a fistfight that ended up with all three of them being sent to the security office for a lengthy discussion. She was relating the entire occurrence, blow-by-blow, about how the two men grunted and beat each other to a pulp (which I suspect turned her on) but at the mention of Emmett's bulging muscles for the nth time, I zoned out.

It was only later when I started thinking about it that a strange idea crept into my head. I don't know why, but somehow the idea of being groped in a train resonated with me. I imagined what it would be like to be felt up by a complete stranger in a carriage full of people. A rough hand on the curve of my ass, running inside my thigh... I thought, I can wear a skirt over one of those knitted pants with buttcheek holes. I was wet before I knew it. The next day, I kept imagining some guy's hand on my ass, on my breasts, between my legs. I fidgeted in class, rubbing my legs together, trying in vain to relieve the tension. As soon as I got back to the dorm, I went online to look for train grope videos and pictures. Most of them were from Japan for some weird reason (they all looked staged, but I digress.) I masturbated myself into a frenzy. I remembered coming three times that night and not getting any work done. But it did the trick and I didn't think of it again until several weeks later.

It was the furthest thing on my mind.

It was on a Friday when I found myself on the commuter train, alone, on my way to Seattle for a night out with some friends. I rarely go out, as I wasn't the kind of girl who goes hunting for fresh meat. Most of the time, I didn't have to. I wasn't as pretty as Rosalie but boys did find me somewhat attractive. I've been out on dates, not as many as Rosalie, and some of these gentlemen have actually tried to get into my pants. It's only because I didn't like them enough, or wasn't turned on in anyway, or fucking frigid (as one of them had spat at me,) that I and my bits remained dry throughout the school year. Anyway, I was on the commuter train, and there were quite a lot of people as it was a Friday evening. The crush of bodies pressed against me brought Rosalie's story to my mind, and I immediately found myself getting wet. The idea seemed so hot and exciting and I couldn't stop myself. I imagined someone's hand wandering all over my body, and I almost wished that someone WOULD do it. No one did, and I spent the entire journey horny as hell. I got off in King St. Station in Seattle and masturbated inside the train station lavatory.

From that time, I started considering doing it seriously - provoking someone into groping me. Over the next few weeks, I found myself thinking idly of doing it until I was actually planning the entire thing. I surprised even myself, but by then curiosity and lust and the long dry spell had gotten the better of me.

I started wearing tight jeans and tops with deep cleavages, squeezed my smallish breasts into wonder bras, curled my lashes and smeared my lips in red. I practiced a come-hither look inside the privacy of the bathroom, pranced around in fuck me heels and planned and plotted my adventures. In the past, I've always made it a point to cover myself up when I traveled by train, bus and otherwise. I grew up in Forks, with only a staid, square father to raise me and besides, it was always raining in Forks. Always wet and cold and clammy.

I started taking the Seattle-Tacoma train on Friday evenings, during rush hours when the trains would be most jam packed. But I found that no matter how sluttily I dressed, no one would do it. It only made me very frustrated. And very, very horny. Masturbating didn't do it for me anymore, even if I did it in different train stations. The thought of asking one of my friends to grope me weirded me out. Yeah, go figure.

Then, it happened. Summer was nearly over and I was on my way back from Seattle where I'd taken an internship at one of the police stations. I'd decided at the beginning of summer that I wasn't staying in Forks and declared to Charlie that I needed experience if I was to be an effective law enforcer some day. Charlie didn't like it but his instincts warred with the pride that his little girl was going to uphold his legacy so she might as well start early. Eventually, pride won.

I'd taken the 7PM train from Seattle to Tacoma that day.

Now, I'm a small girl, almost 5'4" in heels so all I could see in a crowded train were the backs and chests of people pressing in around me. There wasn't enough room for me to move my arms, or my legs, or even to get myself into a comfortable standing position. All around me I could smell the sweat of people, mostly men, tired from their day's work. I realized most of them seemed to be going to Auburn. Coal miners, from the looks of them. Tall, muscular men. Rough. They weren't exactly what I'd call smooth and charming. Still, I didn't find them repulsive and for some reason, the thought of one of them, or even two, groping me turned me on. I was dressed in one of my more adventurous outfits – clunky Docs, short skirt over torn leggings (with two big holes over my ass and a slit in front, just as I wanted). The ensemble was uncomfortable, and cold, too, as I'd worn no panties but it made a point. Some of the men eyed me like candy, almost like they could see under my skirt and smell my pussy. I knew then that it was only a matter of time before someone's hand started exploring my body.

Nothing happened at first, and the train pulled into the next stop after I got in. A fresh crush of people pushed their way into the train and we were all crammed inside the carriage like packed sardines. The train started again, a singsong voice announcing the next station and the lights dimmed. I was starting to wonder whether all my efforts at sluttiness were never going to be worth it all, when I felt it. A hand on my ass. The man was going about it nonchalantly, brushing his hand against my ass every time the train jostled. The way he did it couldn't disguise the fact that he was touching me on purpose. My heart started to beat faster, and I could feel myself starting to get wet.

I tried to turn my head to see how the guy looked, but it was too cramped and I couldn't turn around completely to get a good look. My left side was pressed almost flat against the wall of the train. He was right behind me, facing the same direction as I was, his wandering left hand well hidden from other commuters. The man in front and on my right side had both their backs turned on us so it was like I was in a cocoon on my own, surrounded by men. One of them with a wandering hand. I could smell somewhat expensive aftershave, but then that could have been from any of the other people on the train. The hand on my ass was a little rough, so that suggested that he was not a stranger to manual labor. We went on that way for a few minutes. The train was slow-going, what with it being packed so full of people. I felt more daring now, as the lust started to course through my veins. I pressed my ass against his hand, and reached down behind me to pull him closer against me.

As if it mattered.

With so many people on the train, we were as close as two people could possibly be and not be on top of each other. He was wearing slacks and they felt surprisingly unwrinkled. He didn't feel like he was one of the miners but I didn't care. He was obviously male, and I was willing to fuck anyone with a penis at that point. My hand had brushed the front of his pants and I'd felt his cock twitch against the material slightly. He was tall, too tall for me, and as though he could read my mind, I felt him bend a knee to slouch a little, bringing his cock closer to my ass. I felt him squeeze my ass firmly, and then he leaned his face close to my ear, his stubble touching my cheek, and whispered, "You like it?"

And damn if his voice didn't make my pussy drip. Damn if his stubble, hard and prickly, didn't make me shiver.

He didn't sound like a miner at all but what did I know? I thought he sounded like a singer, like he was used to making his words loud and clear. I closed my eyes, just focusing on the sensation of his hands on my ass. I didn't want to look at him, afraid that if I looked at his face then I might just get turned off and the fantasy would ruin itself. So I focused on the sensations and let him and my imagination do the work.

I murmured a soft but intelligible "Mmmmmm." It was the most I could do without letting it turn into an outright whimper.

I pressed myself harder against him. I could feel his cock poking at me through the soft material of his pants. His hand slipped under my short skirt and he sucked in a surprised breath when he encountered skin. He began kneading my ass, not just stroking it, but rolling it about, teasing the soft, pliant flesh. He was crushing it in his hand, squeezing it hard enough that I wondered if it would leave a mark. I breathed in and out as unobtrusively as I could. He was getting excited as well, his breathing getting ragged. Then he whispered. He told me, murmuring in tones so low I had to strain to hear it, about how nastily sexy I was, how soft my ass was, and what a dirty and horny girl I was. Normally I would have slapped anyone who tried to say that to me, but fuck if it didn't turn me on all the more. He slid his hand between my legs, and groaned, motherfucker, as he found that his fingers found my dripping, freshly-shaven pussy. I tried to spread my legs as wide as the limited space could allow but there was just no doing it. I clutched at the strap of my sling bag, adjusting it strategically over his hand.

"I bet you taste delicious," he said and my bits tingled as I imagined him eating me, his teeth nipping my clit, sucking me, his tongue plunging inside my wet, hairless pussy.

He started running his finger up and down my slit, tracing the line of it slowly, applying enough pressure to feel good but not enough to penetrate me. God, he was such a tease. He sure knew what he was doing. I couldn't help but gasp when he slid his finger inside though. His finger was long, a little rough and the friction was enough to drive me insane. He started sliding it in and out slowly but as deep as it would go. I almost clutched at the man's back in front of me. I didn't know how I managed to stop myself from moaning out load. He pumped his finger in and out, in and out, faster and faster. I was thankful that the train masked the wet slurping sounds I'm sure that my dripping pussy was making. It was stroking almost the entire insides of my pussy, sliding against my clit, his knuckle brushing up against the ridge of my opening.

It was fantastic, fan-fucking-tastic. His finger was wet and slippery from my juices. He would plunge it inside and then wiggle it around a bit, trying to work it as deep as it would go, trying to touch everything inside me, touching me in ways no one ever had before. Then he would pull it out, drag it against my clit, and then slide it in again. I couldn't take it anymore. I started to moan softly, my breath coming out from my mouth in quick succession. I was leaning backwards on him for support. My legs were trembling from the pleasure. Had he pulled away, I would have collapsed onto the floor. He was moaning softly into my ear. And it was too much, just too much so that I knew, as well as he did, that we had to stop. If not, we'd have fucked each other right then and there. He withdrew his fingers quietly and I felt my entire body rebel, my insides crying out for his touch. It didn't take him long. It was as if he couldn't take his hands off me. His left crept inside my shirt this time and for once, I'm glad that I'd worn something loose enough to disguise a hand groping underneath. He reached inside my shirt and into my bra. He took my left nipple in between two fingers and rolled it around, teasing it to delicate hardness. He pinched it softly, tweaking it, and then kneading the whole of my left breast in his hand.

Then without warning, he plunged his hand into my skirt and my leggings under it, going straight for my pussy. He started finger-fucking me in earnest, just in and out, in and out, fast and hard. His hand rubbed my clit hard, while it pistoned in and out of my tight, wet, hot pussy and it was insane, so fucking insane. Pleasure, hot and cold, raced all over my body. I didn't know where to concentrate, whether on his long finger fucking me, his breaths, ragged and crazy in my ear or the fact that I'm about to cum in a train full of people. I pressed my ass against his hard cock, grinding it. He pushed against me and I knew he must be dying to ram it inside me. And I wanted him, motherfuckinggod, yes, I wanted him.

We didn't have to wait long before we both got our wishes.

**XXX**

_Are you hot and bothered? Tell me about it. Show love and review. _

Useless trivia: a geoduck is a very large clam.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks M! Kisses.**

**Prelude Part 2**

**XXX**

I couldn't take it anymore. I had to fuck him. With a monumental amount of effort, I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around his body, my head just reaching up to his chin. No one paid us any attention. My knees were shaking, and my heart was beating so fast I was sure it was going to break out of my chest. I breathed in his scent, spicy, with the lingering cigarette scent of a long time smoker, by turns revolting and strangely arousing. I brought my lips up to his jaw, his stubble rasping on my skin.

"Where?" He smiled then. Fuck. I hoped he'd brushed his teeth. As if I cared if he didn't. At that point, it didn't matter if he was a freak, a psycho, or whatever. I wanted him.

"Let's get off at the next station," I said, pun intended, and he smiled again. He pressed his agreement, his cock hard against my stomach. I closed my eyes and focused on that sensation. I was tempted to just bend over and let him take me right there on the train. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Motherfucker. My phone was vibrating, interrupting my mental tirade. I pulled it out of my bag. Rosalie was looking for me. "Where are you?" the message read. "Emergency. Won't be home tonight." My hands were shaking as I typed it in. Fuck. Was I that horny? Did I want this strange man to fuck me? Fuck. Yes I did. I wanted his cock, the big, hard stick he was grinding against me.

Sumner station rolled along, an eternity later. My clit was throbbing and my leggings were soaked and I bet everyone could smell me then. He pulled me off of the train, and out of the station. I knew the town, I've been here a couple of times but a twinge of uneasiness passed through me for a second. I did not know this man and this was cold county, with lots of isolated places to dump a body. His hand was gripping my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled me trough the thinning crowd.

He stopped. "Know a place?"

I should have asked back: "Are you going to kill me?" But when I looked at him, really looked at him, that didn't sound appropriate at all. He had the greenest eyes I've ever seen and under the week-old stubble lurked a strong, striking face. High cheekbones, full lips that made me forget about the yellowing teeth. Tats crawled up to his neck and I tried to imagine what the rest of his body looked like but couldn't, overwhelmed by a renewed surge of lust. I made the pretense of thinking for a minute, and as soon as I nodded, he started walking again, dragging me towards the direction I just pointed.

"Knights Inn," I'd said. "Couple of blocks away."

"You have money?"

Hmmmm, so I was paying. I went to the inn's main office to check us in, leaving him at the parking lot. Even in the early evening, I was the only guest in the lobby.

**XXX**

_Fuck._

I only had a twenty on me, enough to get me to Tacoma where Carlisle's driver was picking me up. The inn was worth at least $45.

"You have money?" She'd better, or else she was getting fucked against the nearest wall. She nodded, looking at me like she was ready to eat me alive. Goddamn, the girl was horny. She'd better be 18, too, at least, or else I'd be going straight back to where I just came from. Fucking a minor is a sure violation of my parole. I'd been granted freedom to travel out of state for "family reasons" only because Carlisle, my uncle, was friends with the chief of police of some godforsaken town called Forks. Even the name sounded lame. Dad picked it out as it was as far as it could be from Chicago. He thought the distance would do me good, keep me out of trouble. Guess trouble has its own way of finding me.

When I'd first seen her inside the train, she'd barely piqued my interest. A small, pretty brunette with a tight ass and small tits. Looked way too young. But when she started making eyes at every asshole who happened to look her way, I knew then that she was asking for it. Begging. And I hadn't had a woman for sometime, prison and my cockblocking father had seen to that. When I stood behind her, and caught a whiff of her wet pussy, I was a goner.

She made her way back to me, after checking us in some rundown inn. The balding, fat old man behind the desk probably assumed she was checking in alone.

"Last cabin to the left." I could hear the breathless moan under her words. I gave her my best smile.

Even before the door closed, her lips were on mine and my hand between her legs. I had my finger under her skirt, through the obscene cut of her leggings, digging deep into her pussy. She moaned, grinding herself into my hand. We fell into bed, our mouths never disengaging. Slow and sensual be damned. The girl was possessed, primal, almost bestial, begging to be fucked. To be taken like an animal. To be ridden hard, and fast. I didn't bother taking her clothes off completely. The clasp of my pants wouldn't come off, so she helped me, her fingers unsteady. Finally, she was able to pull my pants down and my cock sprang free, hard and standing proudly to attention. Her eyes flickered momentarily in surprise at my thick, tangled pubic hair and I almost laughed out loud. I probably shouldn't tell her only pansies shave in prison.

I tore at her leggings and tossed them onto the floor.

"Spread 'em, sweetheart."

She spread herself wide, as wide as she could go and I positioned myself against her pussy. I slid it in slowly and fuck if I didn't nearly cream on the spot. It had been too fucking long. No one touched my cock the entire time I was in prison, save for the puta Ernesta, who I thought was clean enough, and who screamed puñeta! puñeta! as she came. This girl, however, was so tight, like her pussy hadn't been used for a while. She's no virgin, that much I knew, but damn if she didn't feel like one.

"Ohgodohgodohgod...," she whimpered, nonstop, as I ploughed into her. I was hung, my cock a little on the large size, and it was a chore getting pussies ready for it. But the girl was so wet that I slid in smoothly, as deep as I could go in one, sure stroke.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh..." So good. Damn, who do I have to thank for my fucking luck? I pulled out, before sliding in again, picking up a little speed... I slid out, slap my cock against her clit. Her moans became high pitched mewing. "Like that, huh?"

I pulled her closer, slung her legs over my shoulders and rammed myself into her so hard my balls slapped against her ass.

She screamed her first orgasm. _Ahhhhs_ and _fucks_, stifled inside the train, tore themselves from her mouth with a passion. I kept going. In. Out. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Her body shook, her words became incoherent and she writhed in pleasure, like a hyena possessed. So fucking sweet.

My cock filled her up completely, her pussy walls contracting at every thrust, stimulating every single nerve-ending. She moaned and screamed obscenities at me, and I grunted and groaned back, loving her for that moment, loving the pleasure she was giving me with abandon. The feeling of freedom, of anonymity, of being primal, of having a wild fuck with a wild girl.

I pulled her up, suspended her on air until my cock was almost all the way out, (she was a light little thing) and pushed her down on me. Rough, hard. Again and again. At one point my cock slipped out of her pussy, making a wet, sloppy noise. She reached down between my legs, grabbed at it greedily and put it in again.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't fucking stop. Don't stop fucking."

I didn't. I dropped her to the bed, her head lolling and pulled her tight against my crotch. She crossed her legs across my ass, pulling me even deeper. Goddammit. Impatient little bitch. I fucked her faster, harder than I'd ever fucked anyone before. Even the _putas_ in prison didn't warrant this abuse, this bestiality. Each ram earned a scream. Each scream, a fuck. She pushed herself up, impatient that I wasn't cumming yet. She bit my neck, I squeezed her ass. She tugged on my earlobes with her teeth, her nails digging painfully into my shoulders. Then...she scratched my back. Deep, drawing blood.

"FUCK!" My entire world dissolved into her slick, tight pussy.

My hips gave way and I collapsed into her, burying my face in her neck. I was about to cum, I was cumming. I thrust like a madman, ungraceful and uncoordinated. She lifted her hips up, taking my cock deepdeepdeep inside her, our crotches pressed against each other skin-to-skin. She contracted her vagina muscles, squeezed and..

"FUCK!" Stars danced across my eyes and I grabbed her hips so hard I knew she was going to have bruises in the morning. Fuck if I didn't come so much, so hard. Spasms wracked me as hot spurts, hot streams of ropey, white cum streamed from my cock, filling her pussy.

I wanted to shout puñeta as Ernesta would have done. Puñeta. Puñeta. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was so good. So fucking good.

I held on, as long as I could, savoring the feeling of her pussy caressing my cock as she rode out her own orgasm. I slid it out before I could crush her flat on the bed and lay down beside her, speechless. She was sprawled on her back and staring up at the ceiling, glassy-eyed. She was still fully clothed from the waist up. Below, though, was another story. She was wet and slick between her legs, her pussy abused and purple-pinkish. My cum, mixed with her juices, soaked the cheap, cotton sheet underneath. I was still wearing my shirt, missing only my pants and underwear. Her shirt somehow came open, and her breasts were poking through, her nipples hard. Her legs were still shaking, as were mine. We were both panting, out of breath.

Fuck if she wasn't the most fantastic fuck of the century. Fuck if her pussy wasn't the tightest pussy I'd ever fucked my entire fucking life. I wanted to fuck her from behind, I wanted to fuck her ass, her mouth, every open orifice. Standing up, spread eagled, upside down on the stained brown sofa. After I eat her. Jesusfuckingchrist. The thought of eating her sweet, young pussy was enough to enliven my limp cock.

She turned to me and gave me a wide smile. "Wanna take a shower?"

**XXX**

I'd never been this horny, so in need that I'd throw everything, caution, propriety, everything, to the wind, and let myself be taken in a cheap motel by a stranger I picked up on a train. But damn if he wasn't worth every fucking second of my lost sanity. He'd been so willing, crazed even, and it made me feel powerful, knowing someone could want me that much.

I, Isabella Fucking Swan, made a stranger cum so hard he nearly collapsed.

I looked at him and gave him a grin. "Wanna take a shower?"

He grinned back, fatigue be damned. He stood up, pulling me with him into the bathroom.

The warm water splashed against me, soothing my abused muscles a little. It didn't take long to have his hands on me, like he couldn't help himself. He grabbed the inn's small soap in his large hands and started caressing my breast with it.

"Mmmmm, that feels good," I murmured.

He soaped his own chest and pulled me closer. He started going up and down my body, the soap slick and wet. He stroked my pussy with the soap and lathered up a thick creamy foam and I couldn't help but moan, horny little whore that I am. Fuck if it didn't feel so good.

As I was savoring the sensation, he stopped and gave me the soap, ordering me to soap his entire body. I obeyed him like a child and started stroking him, staying long on his rapidly hardening cock, partly in fascination (how the fuck did he get that thing inside me) and partly making sure it was cleaned thoroughly. I was sure he was going to ask for a blow job. He was a man, wasn't he? He turned the shower on full blast, rinsing us both. He started licking my neck, his warm tongue dragging long and hard on my skin. I was wet again before I even had the chance to catch my breath. I moaned, egging him on, and he pushed me against the wall and sucked on a nipple. Hard. I bit back a scream. It hurt so fucking good. Then he went lower and attacked, yes, attacked my pussy. There was no other word for it. Teeth, lips, tongue. Sucking, biting, licking. He threw my right leg over his shoulder and shiiiiiiiiiit. I came right away. He sucked harder. On and on until I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't breath, I was barely standing. I pulled on his head and told him to stop.

"My turn," I said.

He stood up, took his cock in his hand and pointed it at me.

"Suck it, sweetheart."

I obediently knelt before him, intent on giving him the blowjob of his life. A good deed shouldn't go unrewarded, I decided, and boy, did he fucking love his prize. He moaned, and grunted, hissed and baby-ed me several times. I licked his balls, fingered his ass, ran my tongue on the spot where the sun didn't shine. It was impossible for me to take the entire length of his cock into my mouth so I lollipop licked him. Up and down his shaft. He was cut, making it easier for me to swirl my tongue on the head. After several minutes of sucking and licking, he asked me to stand and bend towards the shower. Without warning, he plunged his big, hard cock into me. I screamed. He liked it. He started thrusting, his thighs making loud slapping sounds against my ass. I could hear his cock slide in and out, my pussy making slurping noises at his thrusts. I loved it. I fucking loved it. It didn't take me long to cum again. He followed soon after.

We spent the rest of the shower stroking, petting, kissing each other lazily until the water ran cold and we had to get out of the bathroom. We went to bed naked and soon fell asleep, completely spent.

I woke up, a few hours before dawn and found the stranger still sleeping. I dressed quietly and prepared to check out, my bravado and sense of adventure leaving me completely. I didn't want him to wake, too scared he'd ask for my number or my name. I didn't want to know his. I crept out of the room and closed the door quietly.

I gave the manager another day's pay for the room just in case he needed it. I'd been tempted to leave money on the dresser, he seemed to need some help, but didn't want him to think I was paying him.

I got on the first train to Tacoma, keeping my eyes down and staying as far away from people as possible. I'd drop by my dorm, see Rosalie, and maybe go home to Forks for a few days. Hibernate. I needed it, after that surreal adventure.

I'd satisfied a craving, a curiosity. I'd had a fantasy fulfilled and it was good. So good I didn't think anything or anyone could ever top it.

But for all its worth, I didn't think I was going to repeat the experience. Once is enough.

I didn't know how wrong I'd be.

**XXX**


	3. Chapter 3

**To M, my beta, with love.  
**

**XXX**

The girl had tiptoed around the room, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible as she made her escape. She'd had her fill and was running, probably scared shitless that I'd ask for her name or number.

Tough luck. She could run but she's not going to make it far.

I already knew who she was. It wasn't my fault that she left her bag lying around, too dazed after a mind blowing fuck. She really shouldn't have brought along her ID, either. Lucky for her, I wasn't some deranged psycho who'd stalk her and her tight, little pussy. Not yet, anyway.

Ms. Isabella Marie Swan was 18, thankfuckinggod. Freshman at Evergreen Geofuckingducks College. Listed a dormitory as her current address and Forks, interestingly, as her hometown. A criminal laws student but she had a copy of Jack Kerouac's On the Road with her. Been read over and over, from the looks of it. Just a small town girl who's bored with her life and looking for adventure. No wonder she'd tasted so sweet.

I got up, an hour after she left. No use chasing after her, I'd only spook her if I did. I wanted to lie around on the bed where we fucked, smell her on the sheets and pillows but I needed to make a phone call to Forks and make up some excuse why I wasn't able to make it to Tacoma last night.

"Check out. Last cabin to the left," I smiled at the receptionist who did a double take when she saw me. Mrs. Banner, her nameplate said. Obviously, the ledger showed a girl's name, not a man's, and she drew her own conclusions.

"Ah, yes," she said, her high pitched nasal twang effectively ruining my morning, "last cottage to the left, yes, yes."

She looked at her ledger again.

"It says here you're booked until tomorrow."

"Oh." I didn't have to feign surprise, "I forgot. I had a terrible headache last night so my friend thought I needed rest. It's gone now, I just needed some fresh air. I don't want to put you in an awkward position but would you mind terribly if I just withdrew her deposit? I want to give it back to her."

I whispered the last part conspiratorially, and gave her a smile. I needed the money, I can only go so far with twenty bucks. Besides, I haven't eaten breakfast or even dinner the night before and fucking always made me hungry.

Mrs. Banner giggled under her breath, dazzled, and promptly gave me $45.

"Can I..?" I motioned to the public phones.

"Of course. Here, you might need these." She handed me some coins and, dearfuckinggod, giggled again. The woman gave me the wrong kind of shivers.

"Hello?" Esme answered after the first ring, her high voice high and strained.

"Hey, Aunt Esme," I said, as if fatigued. "Sorry I wasn't able to make it last night – "

"Edward!" She screeched, abusing my poor ears further. "Where are you? Are you all right? We've been so worried."

"I'm fine. I'm in Sumner. Couldn't make it last night, killer headache."

"Where in Sumner?"

I told her, concocting some bullshit story.

"Stay where you are and Carlisle will get you. He's in Tacoma right now, trying to track you down...hold on for a moment, will you? I have to call him."

She placed me on hold and I could hear her talk to Carlisle on another phone. In less than a minute, she was back.

"Wait there, he's coming to get you," she said. "Thank goodness someone took pity on you. I told your father, he should've given you some money or at least one of his cards. What if you had an accident? What if you got hungry?"

That's my good aunt Esme, always thinking what's best for me. She'd been one of my piano mentors and was as strict as mentors went. But outside my lessons, she was the most doting aunt. She was also the reason I was being exiled to Forks. She and her goddamned idea that I could go back to playing the piano and become the methodical player that I once was.

"Send him to me," she'd pleaded to my father a few months before I was released from prison. "I'll take care of him."

Yes, people thought I was a fucking genius once. I was a piano prodigy, trained by an exacting aunt and mother, both concert pianists themselves. But I stopped playing the day we buried my mother. Stopped being anything but a pain in the ass to my father – big shot, multimillionaire Anthony Cullen, brother of goody two-shoes, small town doctor Carlisle Cullen. Yeah, brother-brother married sisters. Not much for variety, them Cullens. I was fifteen then.

I'd love to say that rebelled because my father was an asshole or because he wasn't a good Dad or that he cheated on my mother and that he let me suffer, he neglected me, abandoned me – all those sob stories teenagers made as poor excuses to justify their crappy, pathetic lives. But that would be lying. My father was so far from the stereotype that it made me laugh my ass off when people assumed I had a fucked up childhood when they realized how messed up I was. My parents loved me and I never wanted for anything. My father's preoccupations, my mother's death or even my highly disciplined and demanding childhood, had nothing to do with who I became – a high class car thief.

I turned to a life of crime because I wanted to, because I fucking liked it. Because I got so bored with playing the piano and getting everything I want, having everything I needed given to me with a silver spoon. Violating and stealing cars gave me the release that I couldn't find anywhere else. The rush, the speed, the proximity to danger and possibility of being caught. Earning my own keep, with my own hands and brain. I turned grand theft auto into an art. I was fucking brilliant at it.

Until Tanya, that bitch.

Esme was still at it, moments later – asking me if I was hungry, if I'd already eaten, going on about how unfair it was that my father made me commute and so on and yeah, poor me. If only she knew.

"Aunt Esme, I have to go. I only have a few more coins left." I jiggled the handle and scraped a coin against the receiver, mimicking a faulty connection.

"Stay there, wait for your uncle. Eat something, let Carlisle pay for it later." She delivered the last instructions in rapid fire and I put the phone back in its cradle before she'd done.

Carlisle arrived, less than an hour later. Cool and striking, he's one of those men who carried themselves with effortless authority.

When I was younger, everyone said that I took after him the most. Quiet, reserved, extremely organized. He would've been one of the most sought after surgeons in LA, if they hadn't moved to Forks after Aunt Esme "retired" from being a concert pianist. Like me, her passion for the piano waned after my mother died.

I gave Carlisle the same bullshit story I gave Esme. He merely nodded, not saying anything, and I had a distinct feeling that he didn't believe a single word I said. He opened the door to his red Audi A8, new but still a piece of shit, and mouthed a sorry as he pointed me to the passenger seat. I wasn't allowed to drive. It was one of the conditions of my parole. Not that I wanted to drive his red piece of crap anyway.

Carlisle saw me eyeing his Audi with distaste and smiled.

"I have something better waiting for you at home," he said, "but you can only drive it within town limits."

_Why the fuck should I drive at all then?_ But I only nodded. "No problem."

All my licenses, real and fake, had been canceled years ago and it would take at least a year of good behavior before I could get a good one again.

"Alice has been looking forward to seeing you again. We managed to discourage her from throwing you a welcome party but she insisted on a formal dinner."

Alice, their only daughter, my only cousin. Again, all I said was "no problem." Wearing a monkey suit wouldn't kill me.

After that, Carlisle was silent and that reminded me why I liked the man. He didn't hover, he didn't waste words but I knew a lot went on inside his mind. He'd taken in my appearance, the fact that I seemed well rested, the idiotic grin I had every once in a while. Goddammit. I was still thinking about the girl. She really got to me. It had been five hours already and I still couldn't get her out of my fucking mind.

"I take it you had a good night," Carlisle commented wryly and I nearly snickered. Good was an understatement.

Soon, we were "home" and I was getting mobbed by Esme and Alice. Esme wanted me to see the cottage behind the house right away. It's small but private, she said. With a large piano room, just like I'd had at home years ago. It was also near enough to the main house so I didn't have to worry about housekeeping, food and shit like that. She told she'd been tuning the piano, that it had been years since she'd played a complete piece, etc etc. It took everything in me not to yawn.

Alice twittered and squealed in a whiny, teenage voice beside her, going on about how swell it was that I was finally there and how fab everything was and how the girls of Forks would love me.

"Let's see about that, squirt." If I wasn't mistaken, she'd be in high school, probably fucking some jock behind her parents back.

Fortunately, Carlisle sensed my restlessness and pulled me away, leading me to the back of the house.

That's where I saw it. A 2010 Sportster Forty-Eight Harley Davidson. Vivid black with steel black laced wheels.

"Esme remodeled it a couple of months ago," Carlisle said. "I really hope you're going to like it here."

"It's fine," I said, going around the motorbike, skimming my fingers over the main body. Almost immediately, I pictured little Ms. Swan on it. Orgasmically naked, her sweet tits thrust out, her tight, little pussy pressing against the cool, smooth steel.

"I meant the house, Edward." Carlisle was smiling slightly.

"Of course," I smiled back. "The house is nice."

Fucking pink nice but I wasn't going to start a war over it.

"I'll leave you to it. Drop by the main house as soon as you're settled in. After lunch, we can have you registered at the police station."

Like some fucking pedo, I grimaced. I was still classified a threat to society and private property, despite having served more than two-thirds of my sentence. Eight fucking years I was in prison, eight whole years wasted while my empire lay in ruins, all my hard work going nowhere. But it also gave me eight years to plot how I was going to rebuild it from the ground. Better this time. Stronger, more impenetrable.

I couldn't wait to start stealing cars again.

**XXX**

_What the fuck!_

I ducked into the records section, behind rows of thick police folders, before he can see me.

I'd arrived in Forks earlier, had breakfast with Charlie and showed up at the police station after lunch. It always made Charlie happy when I helped with his cases, so I made it a point to drop in every now and then. It was the only thing we had in common and I made it a point to involve myself over the years. Being around the station gave me a deep and lasting appreciation for police work. Charlie wasn't a particularly demonstrative man but I've never resented him for it. I didn't say it to him often, I doubt if I said it to him after I grew out of my toddler years, but I love him as a daughter and I've always worked on being someone he could be proud of.

So there I was, being the good daughter and all-around citizen, when Dr. Carlisle Cullen, the man who I've crushed on since I was nine, walked in. Behind him walked another person, a man whose resemblance to him was so striking that it took me only just a second to guess who he was.

Edward Fucking Cullen, his infamous criminal nephew. The same man I picked up in the train and allowed to fuck me silly. Holymotherfuckinggod.

The man was a living legend. Young, rich, charming. A piano prodigy who turned to crime. Rumor had it that the death of his mother unhinged him. It was just partying, booze and girls galore at first. Then came drugs and more drugs and he got tired of that, too.

He set up theft rings and organized robberies in Los Angeles and New York, within celebrity circles, socialites, the old rich and their hangers on. People who had things that they didn't need or deserve. He stole the most expensive cars, with price tags of a million dollars and more. Bugatti Veyros, Ferraris and Porches. Rumor has it that he stole some of the cars himself, using sophisticated tools he invented. His closest associates were rich boys like him, who he kept in touch with from an undisclosed office in Chicago. For four years, he'd never shown his face or told anyone his name. The police ran in circles trying to locate and ID him. He was invincible, untouchable. A freaking genius. Until he took in a girl who turned out to be an undercover FBI agent. Rumor also had it that he was wildly in love with her, and that he had felt so betrayed that he tried to kill her in the end.

I'd studied his case, looked at his teenage photographs when I first heard Dad was going to oversee his parole. But I'd never entertained a thought about how he was going to look ten years later. Of all the men inside that train... I knew he wasn't a miner, I knew he didn't belong there. But I should have at least suspected that he'd been in prison when I first saw the tattoos all over his body.

But who would've thought the great Edward Cullen would take the train? That he'd fingerfuck a horny girl inside it? That we'd end up in a room for a wild fuck without asking each other's names? How could anyone expect me to be capable of any thought when his cock was so deep inside me I thought I'd burst?

I peeked through the folders and watched him go inside Charlie's office with Dr. Cullen. He had a brown leather jacket over a white batman shirt and jeans that shaped his ass. He'd obviously showered. Shaved too but then forgot to comb his hair. There it was, sticking in all directions and it made me wonder how it would feel to run my hands through it, how he and his sex hair would look between my legs...

Fuck. The station was no place for wet, wild fantasies. It only had one bathroom and I couldn't go home to indulge myself. Not until after I'd finished what I'd volunteered to do.

It seemed like an eternity later when Dr. Cullen and his nephew got out from Charlie's office. It was probably less than an hour but my overactive imagination was protesting loudly at being confined.

Four hours later, I was done.

"Dad?" I peeked into his office. Charlie was talking to an officer but stopped and turned to me.

"Yeah?"

"I'm done. I'll see you at home later?"

"Sorry, hun," he gave me a face. "We're shorthanded until midnight."

And that was the story of Charlie's life. For as long as I could remember, the Forks' police force had always been shorthanded and Charlie, good cop that he is, always filled in. Disappointment showed on his face. I was just visiting and I knew he was also looking forward to having one of our comfortable dinners.

"That's all right. I'll go have dinner with Lou at the diner." Another familiar ritual. When Charlie couldn't take care of me, others did. Lou fed me, police officers took me to games, field trips and their families and wives hosted my birthday parties. I played with their kids, had fun with their cousins. It wasn't like I was left alone to fend for myself. And then there's Uncle Billy and Jake who were like a second family to me. Ugh. Jake. We'd been friends since we were in diapers and made the mistake of falling in love and fucking each other in high school. Now we were barely speaking.

"Sorry, honey," Charlie said again.

"Want me to bring home some pie for later? We can have a midnight snack."

"That would be great." He beamed and I beamed back at him. A midnight snack it is then.

It was raining slightly when I left the station but I didn't mind. I had my favorite yellow jacket on, with a hood so large that it covered half my face. It was shapeless, but who cares? I'd turned down offers to drive me to Lou's (in a police cruiser, yaggh) deciding to go for a walk instead. I needed to clear my head, think how I was going to deal with Edward Cullen. Besides, Lou's place was just half an hour walk away.

I was halfway to the diner when I heard it. A low, humming sound. The muffler was obviously on, but the sound was unmistakable. Two pistons, but only one pin. If it wasn't a Harley behind me, then Jake didn't teach me enough about motorcycles.

I walked a little faster, not looking back. Whoever it was better not make the mistake of harassing the chief of police's daughter. Everybody knew who I was and I wasn't exactly defenseless. Charlie had seen to that.

The rider stopped for a while. The sound of the idle engine uncharacteristically loud in the early evening rain. Pop-pop...pop-pop...pop-pop. Only Harleys made that uneven sound.

_Fuck you, fucker. _

The rider gunned the engine and cruised the bike to cut into my path. I knew, right then, who it was. I knew even before he slid back his helmet's visor and peered down at me with green laughing eyes.

I glared at him, not particularly happy. I wasn't ready to deal with him yet.

"What do you want?"

He took off his helmet in response and with a grin, offered it to me.

"Wanna go for a ride?"

**XXX**

**Who wants some motorcycle loving? Raise your right, er, left hand!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Dear M, who shall remain a single letter, thanks for cleaning this up. Kisses. **

**XXX  
**

"Wanna go for a ride?"

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" This was Forks, for fuck's sake. Everyone knew me in this town. Little Isabella Swan, the apple of her father's eyes was not the horny girl who picked up strange ex-convicts on trains and fucked like crazy. I wasn't about to upset that image by consorting with the town's newest ex-criminal. "Get out of my way."

He was at least a foot taller than I was and a hell lot bigger. We were in between houses but if I shouted loud enough, somebody was bound to hear me.

"Relax, I'm just asking you out for a ride. This monster's big enough for two." He patted the bike, his voice cajoling.

Just a ride, my ass. He might be a fantastic lay but he was also a sociopath, with a personality bordering on narcissistic. The psychiatrist who tested him during his trial didn't call him a clinical nutcase but there had been a general consensus that something was definitely wrong with his head.

"Fuck off."

He laughed, sending shivers down my spine. "Did you know Chief Swan had a picture of his daughter on his desk? A very pretty, very sweet girl. He didn't want to brag when Carlisle asked after her, not with me in the same room, but he did anyway. Told us an earful about his Bella. Told us she was inside the station, too, helping with a case. He didn't offer to introduce me, which was a little rude of him. But he doesn't need to, does he? I already know her quite well, too well, in fact."

He was leering, the motherfucker. "Are you blackmailing me?"

"Blackmailing you? For what? For something fathers have no business knowing about their daughters?"

It was ridiculous but I honestly didn't know if he was joking or not.

"If I come with you, will you leave me alone?"

He laughed again and the sound went straight directly to my crotch, firing up my belly.

"Get on the bike, sweetheart. Now."

The tone turned harder, less cajoling, and I shivered again. I should've ignored him. I should've walked away and never looked back. But I didn't. Instead of backing off, I stepped forward and an irrational urge to mount him and stick my tongue down his throat nearly overwhelmed me.

Something was obviously very, very wrong with me.

Blocking the voice that told me to run, I took the offered helmet and strapped it over my head. I mounted the Harley and wrapped my arms around him like a dutiful little girl.

He turned to look down at me, his eyes on my lips, and murmured, "Any place you wanna go?"

"Turn left at the next corner." The street led to a back road to La Push, a long stretch of rough asphalt with no speed limit. He gunned the engine several times and the passenger seat vibrated, sending tremors directly into me, making me instantly wet. Goddammit.

"Hold on tight."

The machine between my legs hummed, slowly driving me crazy. I sought to relieve the tension, rocking onto the seat but the vibrations just shot right into me, massaging my clit, doubling my frustrations.

I clutched at his jacket, holding on to him tightly. The muscles of his stomach flexed under my hand as he pressed back.

Hmmmm... time for some tit for fucking tat, _sweetheart_. I moved a hand up, found the zipper of his jacket and pulled it open. I slipped both hands inside, brushing my hands over his nipples, already hard and taut under his shirt. He stepped on the gas in response. The bike accelerated and the tremors between my legs intensified, like a vibrator turned on high speed. I wanted to whimper, but I knew he'd hear me over the wind.

I pressed myself harder against him, squeezing my breasts against his leather-clad back, grinding my crotch against his ass, rubbing my legs against his. I wanted more contact, more friction. But I knew this ride was for him and I would only have my relief if I could make him stop on the road.

Fuck me, then, if I couldn't make him stop.

I slid my hand lower, covering his crotch and squeezed. He sucked in a breath and shifted, rubbing himself into my hand.

_Good boy. _I found the button of his jeans and he shifted again, giving me space so I could loosen the next few buttons. I could feel his cock throb with his heartbeat under his jeans, straining to be freed. I reached inside and his cock sprang from his boxers, erect and hard. The skin felt soft and dry and I started caressing him, jerking him off in small, circular motions.

"Harder, sweetheart," he groaned loudly over the wind, throwing his head back and leaning against me. The bike started to wobble, careening onto the side where the road was rough and uneven. We bounced on the seats, rocking against each other. I wrapped both my hands on his cock and gripped him tighter, jerking him faster. I straightened my knees slightly to reach up to his neck, not letting go of his cock or stopping my ministrations. His eyes were focused on the road, his hands gripping the handlebars tightly. He was intent on getting us back over the asphalt and maintaining speed, but he was already breathing raggedly, his heartbeat wild and erratic. I could feel mine beat in tandem to his and fuck me if I wasn't close. My pussy was starting to contract from sheer exhilaration and my panties were already damp. It was getting too frustrating. We had too many layers between us. I unstrapped the helmet, took it off and threw it to the side of the road. With the wind on his hair and mine, I sucked on his neck, earning a groan and a "fuck, sweetheart." But the fucker didn't stop, didn't even slow down. The bike flew over the asphalt at a steady speed. Without thinking, I sank my teeth into his shoulder.

"FUCK!" he yelled as he came and the bike wobbled and jerked, skidding unto the edge of the road dangerously. We'd been going fast, way too fast, and he was losing control of the machine fast. He turned the bike to head for the trees and we plunged deep into the undergrowth.

I held on to him and screamed. It was fucking insane.

**XXX**

She was a perfect fit behind me, small but snug. Her tits against my back, her pussy against my ass, her hands jerking me off like a joystick. I pushed the Harley towards its maximum speed, courting danger and gambling with our lives. The rush was more intense than anything I've ever experienced, more exhilarating than the hardest car heist I'd pulled. The wind, the speed, the wild girl behind me who was intent on making me cum so I would stop on the road and fuck her. Her hands, her mouth, her body wrapped around my back was killing me slowly, excruciatingly. I held off, intent on prolonging the torture but she was horny and impatient and I've never wanted anyone as much I wanted her. The need turned into a craving, bordering on a dangerous addiction. Before I could stop myself, I was cumming in her hands.

"FUCK!"

Before I lost total control of the bike and crashed us to our deaths, I swerved and drove us right into the trees, dodging the undergrowth. I searched for a clearing, anywhere where we could stop and I could fuck her ten ways to Sunday. She was screaming behind me, holding on to my cum-slick cock for dear life.

"You're fucking crazy!" I yelled at her.

"So are you!" She yelled back.

It was sheer, utter madness.

Every sensation was magnified. Every breath, exhilarating. I started laughing. After a moment, she joined in. We laughed and she squealed and yelled hysterically as we bounced against the seat and against each other.

We were still laughing when I chanced on a clearing and brought the bike to a full stop.

Then I wasn't.

"No, no, no...," she fought me off as I tore through her clothes, "don't ruin the jacket." She unzipped her jacket as I pulled down her jeans and panties, wanting her naked as fast as possible. I went straight for her pussy before she could get her shirt off, preliminaries be damned. She gasped and stretched out, holding on to the handlebars behind her before she could fall off. I had her draped over the Harley, her back against the gas tank, her ass held firmly by the bike's curved seat. The bike was on a kickstand but I'd left the engine on idle, the vibrations shaking her back, her ass, her pussy. I pushed her shirt up her tits surged into the cool air and I bent down for a taste. Sweet, so fucking sweet. She looked glorious, debauched, wanton. Waiting for more, begging to be fucked and ridden.

And ride her I did. Hard, deep and fast. Her hands on the handlebars, her legs on the air, I banged into her, grunting, groaning, telling her how fucking sweet she was, how good she felt. She took to thrusting back, ensuring she had every inch of me inside her. It didn't take long for an orgasm to hit her and she moaned a long, drawn-out fuck as she shook and quivered. I followed a minute later.

I pulled her up, our crotches still joined and rode out a mutual orgasm. She slumped against me, exhausted.

"Poor baby."

She looked up at my words and smiled in a daze. Even after a rough fuck, she looked innocent. I leaned down and gave her a long, overdue kiss.

We stayed in that uncomfortable position, silent and tired, until it became too cold.

"Take me back," she said, minutes later.

She was silent on the ride back, her hands behaved and still. She couldn't be worrying about Chief Swan. We'd been gone less than an hour so nobody would've noticed her absence. She told me to stop a few meters away from the diner, intent on not being seen with me.

She swung her legs off, dismounting the bike.

"Listen...," she started, fidgeting, looking at the toes of her shoes. "I don't think we should see each other."

I laughed. Funny, that was the farthest thing on my mind. "Why not?

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"It doesn't have to be a good idea."

"Look," her tone hardened. "Just stay away from me, ok?"

She stalked off and didn't look back. There was something off with the way she said it, like an undisguised fear. She couldn't be that worried about the town or her father knowing that she fancied an ex-con. Nobody needed to know how we first met. Nobody even needed to know that she was seeing me at all. I had no problems with being discreet.

But whatever it was could wait. I had things to do before I could start anything with her. I needed to call up someone first, set-up a meeting long overdue by eight years. Then I had to show Carlisle and Esme, and even Chief of fucking Forks Swan that I was a reformed motherfucker.

One thing was clear, though. Nothing and no one was going to keep me away from her.

**XXX**

**Sit tight, something's coming. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Kisses and hugs to M.**

**XXX**

Two weeks, two whole fucking weeks and I was pulling my hair out in frustration and indecision. I'd told the motherfucker to fuck off but why am I so goddamn angry that he hasn't called me at all?

There was something seriously wrong with me.

For the longest time, I thought it was something else. When I was with Jake, I had that little problem of not reaching an orgasm, of being a little frigid. Being in high school with a horny boyfriend, my hormones should have gone wild. We should have been humping each other every day. I should've mastered the art of teenage sex by the time I graduated.

But I didn't. I couldn't even get horny, excited and wet enough. When Jake started looking for pussy elsewhere, I didn't blame him. It was humiliating and it hurt even months after but it was the sad, fucking truth. I was a passive lover who couldn't come and make my partner come. I never hid it from Jake that I wasn't the average slutty girlfriend. I told him over and over that it wasn't about him, that I just needed some time to "warm up" first, that maybe if he didn't fuck me everyday I'd learn to miss him so much I'd dry hump him the moment he came into my room. But he was a man, he told me. A man who had needs, like sticking his dick into the next available vagina.

After Jake, I didn't avoid sex but I didn't go looking for it, either. There was nobody interesting enough to fuck, anyway. Jake not only embarrassed and hurt me, he also left my confidence in my own sexuality in tatters.

Up until that time in the train with Edward Cullen. And the inn after. And in the woods. And every fucking minute since.

It scared me. It was easier to accept that I was frigid. That I would never be able to please a man and keep him for the long haul. That no one could arouse me, tease me and bring me to orgasm so effortlessly and that I couldn't make a man cum just as easily in return. I'd been proven wrong. I had not only satisfied a virtual stranger, I'd made him cum, over and over. He'd returned the favor in spades and I'd enjoyed it. Too much, in fact, that for a second, I was willing to embarrass my father by being known as a slut who was willing to fuck and be fucked by a random stranger.

And that was very, very wrong. Because that was my mother, not me.

Renee, the one who brought me into this world, was the town slut. She was known for her appetites, for spreading her legs for any man who happened to move in or drop by the sleepy town of Forks. She entertained half the men of the town, before and after marrying a nice, young policeman. My father was the last to know of her predilections. She left us, thankfuckinggod, when I was two. I never had to deal with her outside of her reputation.

Maybe I was blowing everything out of proportion but I should never have done what I did on the train. I should never have whetted a latent appetite. What if what I felt about being groped wasn't a one time thing? What if I inherited Renee's slut genes? What if I was a nymphomaniac like her? What if I'd only repressed the craving, the addiction to fucking by convincing myself that I was frigid? Jake hadn't pushed. He was the missionary-position type. What if I only picked him because I wasn't really attracted to him sexually and that had made him safe?

Even now, I missed him. I missed fucking him. I missed Edward Fucking Cullen, even though I really didn't know who he was outside his criminal file.

Something was definitely wrong with me. How else could I still feel his cock inside me, pumping in and out of my pussy, days, even two weeks later? Any random memory could get me wet so fast that thinking about him was almost a disabling affliction. When I rode my own hand or the trusty hand shower, all I needed to see was his face above me, frozen in the throes of orgasm and I'd cum. Hard and sometimes, not so silently. Rosalie had taken to calling me out on it, bitching about how loud I was in the mornings (and late nights, too) and that I should just find a man and fuck his brains out.

I could tell her that I already found him. And I could tell myself that I wouldn't fuck him to prove that I wasn't like my mother. But that would be lying.

**XXX**

The brown sedan had been parked behind Forks' supermarket for more than ten minutes, its engine idling. After a while, its headlights flashed. Once. And then twice.

I made my way towards it, braving the torrential rain, and slipped into the passenger seat. The car was an ugly piece of shit from the outside but inside, it was a veritable nightmare. The seat was sagging in the middle and the fading gray corduroy covers rasped against the back of my arms as I tried to get myself comfortable. The black dashboard looked old and hideous. Worse, the car smelled of old cigarettes and faint vomit.

"Took you long enough," I told the man behind the wheel, not bothering to hide my grimace. He merely smirked in response. He was supposed to arrive an hour earlier. I'd called him two weeks before, soon after Bella left Forks. I could've talked to him over the phone or through encrypted channels instead of pulling him out from whichever cave he'd hidden himself in. But I wanted to see him. Eight years had been too fucking long and it might be a while before I had the chance to see him again.

"Hard to come by trusty sedans these days," the man answered. "But I can see the reason why you specifically asked for it." He was looking around the parking lot with a slightly bemused expression. Rows and rows of outdated Chevrolets, rusty old buckets and machines littered the lot.

"You can't bring a Ferrari into this hick town without raising a red flag."

"I can see that," he chuckled, backing from the parking lot and pulling into the town's main street smoothly. "Good to see you again, boss."

"Cut the boss crap, Jasper."

Jasper laughed. "Yes, boss."

He was looking good, better than I'd anticipated. His hair had grown long, his face leaner, more mature. Grew a few feet taller, too. The only thing that was the same were his eyes, peering into the windshield a little too brightly. He was just a kid when I last saw him, more than eight years ago. I was barely more than a kid myself when the FBI hauled my ass to jail.

Jasper Whitlock was not only the brother I never had, he was also my silent and undiscovered partner. Son of Peter Whitlock, owner of one of the Pentagon's biggest industrial partners, and a close friend to brothers Anthony and Carlisle. His father had always indulged him, giving him the best and latest equipment to play with to compensate for his lack of attention. On his own, he learned to access the highest lines of communications.

Jasper was a dreamer, prone to flights of fancy, diagnosed with Aspergers when he was eight. When he talked about his latest obsessions, everyone took him for granted. Everyone, except me. I was nearly fifteen and Jasper, merely thirteen, when we first came up with the crazy idea of stealing cars by using rival gangs in Chicago and exporting them to China, recalibrated beyond recognition. We started a partnership, conducted remotely through secure lines. All we needed was a few million dollars and an army of minions whose efficiency and loyalty we bought and paid for. Every now and then, we'd spend a few free weeks together. To avoid suspicion, we met only when our parents met – on vacations in the Bahamas, Christmases at the Hampton's, skiing season in Switzerland. Using proxies, decoys and false identities, we built an empire based on gang loyalties, the underworld's deadly competition and the rich's unbridled greed and lust for shiny, new toys.

When my mother died, our operations went into full swing. I planned and mostly executed. He stayed in hotel rooms and covered everything else – communications, surveillance, intelligence and counterintelligence and when needed it, extraction operations. He was wily, extremely smart and rarely wrong. But more than that, he was fanatically loyal. He also had the social graces of a raccoon.

"I didn't think you'd call so soon," Jasper said, bringing me back from my musings.

"Yeah, well, I found a phone."

"Which I checked," he turned to me for a moment, "for security purposes. It lists it's owner as one Isabella Swan. Did you know that she's the daughter of your parole officer?"

"Yes, I know."

"What were you doing with her?" he asked. "You want her address? Her new phone number, house number, her friends and professor's number? Wanna know where she went yesterday, the other day? What she ate last night?"

"Fuck, Jas, you had her checked out?" The idea of someone, even if it was just Jasper, spying on Bella was strangely upsetting.

"I don't want you going back to jail, Edward."

"How the fuck did you come up with that?"

"I pulled all her records for the last two months. She uses her student card when she rides the train and it showed that she was on the train at the same time you were on Friday the 14th. She stopped at the same station as you did and later was in Forks at the same hours as you were," he said tonelessly. "You called me sometime after she was seen leaving for Tacoma and the phone was disconnected later. Beep...beep...beep. Dead signal. She reported the phone missing the day after and applied for a new one which she got within the week. She either dropped it and you happened on it, which is unlikely unless you were stalking her, or you stole it...when you were stalking her. Simple. "

There was nothing simple about it and I could tell that it was making him really nervous.

"I did not steal it." Bella had actually dropped it. It had slipped out from her jacket in the woods and she'd completely forgotten about it when she'd left in a huff. I should've thrown it into the nearest ditch right away but it was Bella's and I was reluctant to part with it.

"I just want you to be careful," Jasper said. "I don't want another Tanya to happen to you."

"I didn't call you to talk about Tanya." I didn't want a fight five minutes after seeing him again but he was starting to piss me off.

"No, you called me because you wanted to resume operations," he said, going straight to the point. "I know it's been eight years and we're probably at the bottom of the FBI list right now but they are still watching you."

"That's why you will have to do the scouting," I answered, having no need for small talk either. "They won't expect me to move right away, not when I'm stuck in Forks with my aunt and uncle and the entire fucking town breathing down my neck."

"I don't do scouting," he shook his head. "I don't assemble teams, find targets or do the planning. That has always been your thing. I'm not good at it, I'll only get caught."

"You won't," I said, and added."You didn't."

It was a cheap shot, to use the years that I'd protected him as leverage to get his cooperation. For eight years, I'd kept his identity a secret. Throughout the trial, I didn't breath a word about his involvement, not even when I ended up serving more jail time than I should have. I deflected all leads the FBI had that could've implicated him – lying through my teeth, fucking with the polygraphs, staging stunts that got me beaten up or sent to isolation, messing with everyone's head, including mine. Nobody believed that I could orchestrate simultaneous robberies all by myself but they had no suspects, no leads, no motive. Jasper had been in Europe with his father when Tanya set up the trap and shit hit the fan. Even if he hadn't been, I'd hidden him so deep inside the network that no one would be able to find him without inside information.

But I didn't cover for him because I wanted him to owe me. I did it because I knew he wouldn't survive a day in jail.

Jasper could shake his head all he wanted but I knew that he wasn't going to say no.

"Trust me, Jasper, I had eight years to prepare for this. I know exactly what I'm doing."

"I trust you, Eddie, I always have," he said, reverting to a childhood nickname I hadn't heard for a long time. "I don't trust myself."

"That shouldn't be a problem." I reached out and mussed his hair like I did a long time ago. "Just think of it as a reverse you and me. You go out, I watch your back. I'll be with you every step of the way. It'll be fun!"

He was far from being convinced.

"How about we forget about it for now? Let's just drive like we used to, without a care in the world."

Jasper snorted. "When was the last time we drove without a care, Eddie? Just tell me where you want to go."

I never could fool him, even when we were kids. "Tacoma."

"Where in Tacoma?"

I grinned at him. "I thought you said you had the address."

His eyes widened, his body turned rigid as he turned to me and sputtered. "You had me fly all the way from DC so you could stalk a girl?"

"I'm not allowed to drive," I said, still grinning. "Who else would I call?"

"You bastard," he said, shaking his head, telling me that he was in the middle of a project, one that the Pentagon had been harassing him for for weeks, etc etc. But I could see that he was smiling despite himself, happy that I thought of calling him and no one else. "What about Ernesta?"

"What about her?"

"She's still somewhat your wife until after the divorce is finalized. You were willing to fake a marriage in exchange for fake conjugal visits just so you could stick your dick into a hole."

"Did you just say dick?" I roared. Jasper could be very, very amusing sometimes. He was a trained Southern gentleman who'd rather say penis instead of dick, female genitalia instead of pussy. He was someone who pulled out chairs for ladies, opened doors, fucking stood up when one of the fat tenors left the table. He didn't curse, didn't drink, didn't whore around. His only recreation was smoking weed, which he took pride in like he was some fucking connoisseur. "Who've you been talking to, boy?"

"She wants to see you," Jasper grimaced, "one last time."

"I'm not touching that whore anymore. Pay her, get her as far away from me as possible."

"She's not a whore, Edward. She's Gen. Gustavo Hernandez' daughter and if he'd known what you'd been doing to her, he'd kill you. I don't know why she worships your sorry ass."

"Because we pay for her nasty cocaine habit, that's why." Of course, I knew who her father was. General Hernandez, head of the fucking allied forces in Afghanistan. "Get her off my dick, Jasper. Take care of it personally."

"Personally?" He snickered. "Oh, I see. This is about the policeman's daughter, isn't it? You want to sweep your dirt under the rug, make everyone go away, so you can pose as the reformed ex-con, not the dirtbag that you really are. You're playing with fire, Edward."

Goddammit, why couldn't he just shut the fuck up? Why couldn't he be wrong this time? I was going to get burned, I knew that. Isabella Swan had a bad side but she was inherently a good girl. Was she going to be worth the price? Would she survive after I'd done with her? Would I?

"I like fire," I said, "and we're not discussing her anymore."

He fell silent, like he was bound to do when people told him to shut up. I felt guilty about it but dammit, I didn't want a fight so soon after seeing him. There'd be plenty of time for that later. We hadn't even started talking about what happened with Tanya yet.

An hour later, we pulled up in front of a two-storey building and Jasper killed the engine. He took out a scanner and turned it on. A red light blinked, showing someone's location.

"She's in her room, alone, number 216. That would be...second floor, third window to the right."

I looked up. Fluorescent light streamed from the window. Even without Jasper's tracker, I knew where she'd be. It was a Tuesday night and like all good students, she'd be up studying. "Did you bring the climbing equipment?"

"In the back," Jasper answered. "How did you know you were going to need it?"

"Just a guess," I answered. It wasn't much of a stretch. Evergreen was a small college, with low-rise buildings. She's a sophomore so she wouldn't have one of the most accessible rooms reserved for juniors and seniors but she wouldn't have the worst room, either. So second or third floor it was. Simple.

The light in the next window, smaller and a bit higher, switched on. A bathroom. Bingo.

I took the climbing equipment and rapped on Jasper's window. "Wait for me. This won't take long."

Eight years of prison exercise had its advantages. A few sure steps and I was in her room. She and her roommate hadn't locked their windows.

I looked around and took everything in. The room looked like any other dorm room. Generic, decrepit, boring. The bathroom and the few scattered pieces of furniture were the only things that distinguished it from a larger prison cell.

The shower was loud inside the bathroom but over the sound of the water, I could hear something else distinctly.

Moaning. Low sounds of need and want. Fuck. I was hard in an instant.

I rapped on the door. The moaning stopped but not the shower.

"Just a minute," she called out. I counted to three and knocked again. She turned off the water and moved around the bathroom.

I pounded on the door, harder this time. Goddammit, she was taking her own sweet time.

"Dammit, Rose!" She threw the door open. "I said just a min–"

She stopped in her tracks, her mouth open. All she had on was a little, fluffy towel around her chest. Water dripped from her hair to the floor but some stayed on her skin. She looked innocent and sweet and so fucking beautiful.

I had her back flat against the wall in one second, my mouth on hers, stifling her scream. My hand pulled at her hair, the other clawed at the towel. I didn't know what she was saying when I started biting her, licking and sucking the drops of water on her neck, her shoulders, down to her tits. Maybe it was a wait, or "easy," or a string of nice, colorful curses. I didn't care.

The first taste of her skin, so delicious and so, so good, had brought me to a frenzy. I was shaking, my hands unsteady as I pulled on my own clothes, trying to be as close to her as possible. I wanted more, needed more. The craving which had been there all along bloomed into a searing pain.

After two weeks of staying away, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Let me fuck you," I heard myself beg. "Please, Isabella, let me fuck you."

**XXX**

**For those who asked, Edward's age would be around 26-27 :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks, M. Love, Bond.**

**Ride, formerly titled Commute.**

**I promised everyone who reviewed a preview. How about a full chapter? ;)**

**XXX**

I let him. After days of rationalization and denial, I did.

He was shaking badly, his fingers unsteady. "Let me fuck you," he'd begged. "Please."

I helped him out of his jeans and his boxers. I guided his cock and held on when fucked me like a madman. My legs shook, my knees buckled, my back and ass stung as the bathroom tiles, cracked and neglected over the years, pressed and cut through my skin. He pulled on my hair, bit and licked and sucked. I told him to take it easy, wait... easy...easy. He was beyond hearing, beyond restraint, beyond any control.

I loved every fucking second of it. Every brutal, unrestrained thrust. I loved how he begged, needy and desperate. I loved how his torn shirt lay on the floor, its buttons scattered to all corners of the bathroom. I loved how he couldn't pull down his own fucking jeans, how he shook as he bit and growled and grunted and said fuck over and over. I didn't mind how he'd pushed me against the wall, banging my head against the tiles, his fingers digging into my ass. All that counted was how his cock felt inside me and I was cumming hard and fast.

It was only later when he'd slumped and I'd slid to the floor that I'd realized what happened. I had let a man fuck me like nothing else mattered. I wasn't worried about unnecessary complications. I'd gotten my contraceptive shots at the student clinic regularly. Maybe he was dirty but who worried about that? Yes, it was his fault as he'd rudely interrupted a nice session with Mr. Handshower and yes, he'd asked and said please, but what if it wasn't him who barged into the bathroom? What if it was some other man? Would I have let some other stranger fuck me? Jesusfuckingchrist, what if it was Emmett?

Worries about stranger sex aside, the fact that I was naked inside the bathroom, alone with a certified psychopath was even more disturbing. Edward Cullen was no ordinary stranger. He was an unpredictable man who lived his life on the edge, a juvenile delinquent who'd shown no remorse for his crimes. Sure, he'd never killed or hurt someone personally. He'd only stolen possessions which seemed frivolous and extravagant to the ordinary citizen and his records showed that he was a principled sociopath who held himself to high standards and lofty ideals. But he was still insane and dangerous, capable of doing the most irrational things if not handled properly.

Rosalie was with Emmett and won't be back until Thursday. If he decided to keep me here, against my will or abduct me, it would take at least a day and a half until someone noticed I was missing. Maybe someone, anyone, saw him come in. "How'd you get in?"

"Window," he answered. "Lock them next time."

Fuck. I shivered, suddenly very, very cold. I pulled my knees up to my chest, my muscles protesting. My back fucking hurt.

He moved, pulling up his jeans and sat behind me, his legs to my side. He pushed my hair over my shoulder and pushed me forward gently, baring my back. Fingers started exploring the scratches, the telltale color of blooming bruises on my hips. Butterfly touches skimmed over my skin, gentle and comforting. I tried not to wince.

"I think you should leave now."

Instead of answering, I felt his lips touch where his hands had been, his tongue laving against the scratches. Gentle, lingering licks replaced his fingers, from my shoulders to my neck, licking the blood from the cuts, alarming and disturbing and so incredibly erotic.

"Please," I breathed out, terrified not at his perversity but at the desperate need that he seemed to invoke inside me with the slightest effort. He didn't stop but kept on licking, nibbling, his arms going around my knees. I forced myself to keep still, not to ask for more.

"Come to the house on Sunday," he murmured and I shook my head. Sunday was Carlisle's birthday.

For years, Charlie and I went to Carlisle's birthdays. His parties have always been the talk of the town. They held glamor and celebrity and gave everyone not only the opportunity to bask in the affection and attention of Forks' version of royalty but also the chance to ogle famous people who'd come to Forks in droves to celebrate with the Cullens. Artists, musicians, big names in business and the entertainment world would arrive in town with their limousines and perfumed hosiery, dazzling and wowing the glamor-starved population. It was also the only time that Esme Cullen played to the crowd.

For the first time, I made my excuses. I had an exam coming up, I'd told Esme when she personally called her invitation. We were so looking forward to have you, darling, she'd said, not hiding her disappointment. So was I, actually. But I didn't want to risk a public confrontation.

"Did Esme send you?"

He laughed quietly against my neck. "No one sent me."

"Why are you here, Edward?" I've never called him by his name before and it sounded strange coming from me. He must have realized it as well because he stopped and twisted me so my back rested against one of his legs and I was facing to his right. He touched my cheek, my face, my lips and watched his own fingers tease and test with strange intensity. His hand moved lower, tracing curves and angles, slowly bringing up the heat again.

"I missed you," he answered simply, admitting to something I'd never say out loud. "I missed these," he said as he cupped a breast, turning it over his hands gently, his eyes following his fingers as he rolled a nipple, sore from his crazed suckling, "and this," another hand snaked between my legs to cover my wet pussy, a finger brushing over my clit. "I missed all of you."

The words were spoken low, murmured in fascination and my toes curled, every nerve in my body screamed and tingled. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on his wandering hands but I knew that a threat was coming. Sociopaths were known to be outwardly charming and temporarily devoted to their sexual conquests, but deep down, they're hostile and domineering.

But instead of a cliché warning, he merely repeated his request.

"Come to the house on Sunday."

The scenarios I built in my mind crumbled.

"Why?" I already made it clear that I didn't want to be seen anywhere near him.

"I have a surprise for you."

A tremor of excitement ran through me and I clamped down on it. He was not to be trusted for even a second. "What are you up to?"

He smiled, green eyes bright and indulgent. "You'll see."

After he left, I stayed on the bathroom floor for minutes, too weak to stand. Something was up, and despite the incomprehensible excitement I felt, I was prepared not to like it.

**XXX**

I left her sitting on the floor, knees pulled up together, feet apart, her pussy bared to me between her legs. The image should tide me over until Sunday. I went out the way I came in, scaling the wall of the dormitory.

Jasper had rolled down the windows of the Corolla and was sitting on the passenger seat, barefoot, knees drawn to his chest. Holding a bong in plain sight.

I slid into the driver's seat and turned the key he'd left dangling in the ignition. The engine sputtered to life and purred a low and harsh sound.

"I thought you weren't allowed to drive," Jasper said when I pulled out and drove us out of the college.

"You going to rat me out?"

"Me? Rat you out?" He laughed, high as a kite. "Ridiculous."

It was fucking ridiculous. As ridiculous as pursuing a girl who was clearly on the other side of the fence. Jasper was right about Bella being another Tanya. Only this time, I held all the cards. It wasn't like the time with Tanya whom I didn't know, didn't even suspect, was a conniving, lying bitch up until she handcuffed me in front of twenty FBI agents. It had stung like hell, having someone fool me completely. Ernesta, the general's daughter, had paid for Tanya's sins. Bella would be my revenge.

It was barely midnight when we left the college, so I had at least a few hours with Jasper before I needed to go back to Forks and pretend I never left. I stopped by a convenience store, bought a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes. Jasper was silent, lost in the smoke of his own musings. I drove towards the port of Tacoma, careful not to overspeed. I pulled into a deserted part of the highway, close enough to the Pacific, and got out of the car. Jasper followed and we both stared out to the inky blackness that was the sea.

When we were kids, we'd dreamed and planned of what we were going to be and what we were going to do when we "grew up." How we were going to pull the hardest, most complicated heists and robberies together. We didn't care about money or fame. All I cared about was the rush and all Jasper cared about was how he could outsmart everyone.

So there we were, on a deserted beach in the middle of the night, not exactly "grown up" but able to share a drink as legal adults for the first time. I offered him the bottle of whiskey.

"Can't drink," Jasper slurred out. "Have to drive you back."

"Call Remus." Remus, a deaf-mute, was Jasper's personal butler, father, mother, personal assistant all rolled into one. He'd taken care of Jasper since he was a baby. "Have him pick you up. I'll drive this piece of crap over a cliff somewhere and take the bus back to Forks."

That way he could stay as high as he wanted and I could indulge in a little destruction and go back to my pink little cottage wasted. I cracked the whiskey bottle open and took a long swig.

"Fuck!" The liquid burned through my throat and into my belly as I sputtered. Whiskey was always in short supply in prison, making my life almost alcohol-free for the last eight years. Jasper started laughing, pointing to my buttonless and now wet shirt.

"Wuss," he chortled and years of absence vanished as I joined in.

"I'll do it," Jasper said minutes later, after he'd had his fun. "Just tell me what to do."

I knew he would. "Call Garrett. He's in Minneapolis."

"Garrett Henderson?" He asked, surprised. Garrett was one of our first operators. "He deals with diamonds now. Doesn't want to touch a car for the rest of his life."

"Who said anything about cars?" I smiled at him.

"You didn't," he nodded slowly, the idea slowly dawning on him. He stood up and began walking around the Corolla, switching from the bong to smoking a joint. He'd always loved working out what I was thinking. The fewer the clues, the better. "Why diamonds?"

"Does it matter?"

It could be diamonds, paintings, federal gold, Siamese cats. It didn't matter what was stolen as long as the game was set rolling.

"I can see the advantage...," he stopped and smoked some more. "Diamonds are small, easier to dispose and –"

"They require a special method of stealing completely different from auto theft," I supplied.

"Plus they're a better unit for exchange."

I raised the whiskey bottle to him in salute. "We start with Garrett, hit several targets simultaneously, get everyone excited. When everyone's paid for and settled down, we go after Veyrons."

"You won't find a lot of them." Jasper knew his cars as well as I did. Priced at a steep $1.7 million each, there were less than a hundred of the latest Bugatti Veyron sold in the world. "And no market. Too rare."

"Not in the US, no."

"You're thinking Europe?" He asked and I shook my head. "Russia? Latin America? Asia?" He stopped and grimaced. "Canada?"

"Middle East."

"Oh!" I knew he'd find the idea novel. "Hence, the diamonds. Smart."

Middle East was where the rich had the most money to spend, where the stakes were highest and most dangerous. But they don't have the most dollar-friendly economies so yes, hence the diamonds.

"Contact the Volturi, negotiate our terms. Don't accept anything below 65% and we get to pick our team."

The Volturi, one of the oldest international mafias, was based in Italy. "We're not operating locally?"

"In case you haven't noticed, the US economy is in the dumps," I said. "Besides, American cars suck."

He laughed and we were in familiar grounds once again. He was thirteen when his father gave him a custom-built Maseratti for his birthday, unwittingly prodding us into our life of crime. We tested it around the estate our families had rented in Nordhom for that summer, drove it across the Germany-Netherlands border, speeding, laughing, having the time of our lives as only spoiled rich boys could. Remus rode on the back seat as the only adult proxy, mutely screaming his disapproval and terror.

Damn if it didn't feel good back then. Damn if I didn't want to feel it again. What I wouldn't do to have that kind of machine under me, speeding over the highway, preferably with a dozen police cars on my tail. That time would come again, I'd make sure of it.

"You brought me something?"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." Jasper goes to the side of the car and comes back with something that resembled an extremely thin cellphone. "Use this."

"What does it do?"

"Just about everything," he grinned and proceeded to tell me every function and feature in detail. Touchscreen, untraceable, undetectable, cable, radio and internet access, latest encryptions, access to private, police and military networks, records and CCTVs, mapping and satellite imaging and tracking. It was as he said, it did everything. He talked and I listened. He gesticulated as he explained abstract concepts and bounced around when a topic excited him.

"Does it come with a missile launch system?" I asked when he stopped to catch a stray thought, staring at the sea for several minutes.

"Do you want it to have one?" He laughed, enjoying his own joke, and started again, happy that somebody whom his father hadn't paid and who was not beholden to his family was listening to him, interested in what he had to say. He excitedly launched an explanation on the latest AES logarithms, his latest projects for the Pentagon, this and that and such.

I listened and watched as he reverted to the thirteen year boy that I knew. Detailing a gadget for several minutes, describing it over and over before moving on to another topic. I remembered the time when he was completely obsessed with car batteries, when he'd talk about them for hours on end – how lithium-ion batteries are more efficient compared to lead-acid batteries long before such innovations were made, how amperes could be upped in conventional batteries, arguing against Peukert's Law and on and on and on. As we grew older, his obsessions took on a firmer direction and he became obsessed with comgadgets and supercomputers. Cars, however, remained his first love.

It saddened me when I realized how isolated he must have been after I went to prison. I was not only the only person who really listened to him, I was perhaps the only one who saw and appreciated his brilliance. I let him talk intermittently, our conversation going to wherever he wanted it to go, huddled inside the hideous sedan when it became too cold outside, until the skies started to turn pink and the waves receded from the shore.

"Did I bore you?" He asked, hours later.

I laughed and told him to shut up. The whiskey had been long gone, and along with it, my buzz. It occurred to me suddenly that we deserved an indulgence, one that we haven't had for a long, long time.

"How about you come and visit me after you're done in Italy?" I offered.

"Really?" He jumped at the chance, excited, before frowning. "In Forks? Is that wise?"

I'd strictly forbidden him to see me during the trial and visit me the entire time I was in prison to avoid contamination. We managed to maintain lines and carried on our correspondence mainly through Ernesta who smuggled information and gizmos between her ample breasts and ass.

"All you need is a proper cover."

And I had just the right one in mind.

He was still frowning, trying to work out my motives. "Why?"

"I want you to meet my cousin, Alice."

**XXX**

**Teehee. ****Don't hit me on the american cars suck comment. =D****  
**

**Take a wild guess what Edward's surprise is!  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**A million thanks and hugs to Eviekinz for volunteering to beta this chapter. **

**She turned what I wrote into something shiny and readable. Kisses, girl! **

**And to M, too.  
**

**XXX**

"You look good, honey."

"So do you, Dad."

It was one of the few times Charlie dressed up and he looked every inch the debonair stud a lot of ladies at the station panted after. I knew I wasn't supposed to know that, but wives gossiped, kids teased, and even Lou got the vapors every once in a while.

It was almost seven; time for us to get going to the Cullen mansion for Carlisle's birthday. I'd called Esme myself a few days ago and rescinded my excuses, deciding to face what Edward had in store for me. Esme had been overjoyed at my turn-around.

I did start the entire affair, after all. If I hadn't been so fucking horny that day on the train, I wouldn't have seduced Edward Cullen. He never would have met me outside Forks' shiny shindigs. My life would have gone on like it had been before: _dry_, safe, and boring. He would have found another toy to play with. I wasn't an idiot. I knew what he was and what he wanted. I knew what would happen eventually: I'd be used, probably at some point abused, and if I wasn't careful, I could get seriously hurt.

At the entrance to the Cullen house, Charlie and I went through the same rigmarole as we had in previous years. Guests would mill about near the door, clustered into small exclusive groups. The staff and waiters would bob and weave between them. The clique to the left was Mr. and Mrs. Mayor and his menagerie of political staff. To the right was the infamous conductor from LA. He was surrounded with people of his kind: pianists, violinists and the like. At the back of the room, I spotted Mr. Popularity, strutting his ass for Forks spoiled brats. They included Ms. Jessica Stanley, whom I was good friends with in middle school.

Looking around, I noticed all the girls looked powdered and pretty, making me feel dowdy and insignificant in my blue baby doll dress and modest heels.

Charlie and I went further into the house, eyeing its sweeping staircase and ornate chandeliers. Like the years before, Esme's piano was on full display at one side of the great hall. But it wasn't the only thing hogging everyone's attention. Another piano, as grand and shiny as Esme's, sat next to it.

There was much talk about it and I caught the tail-end of a hushed conversation. It appeared that Edward Cullen, heir to the Masen-Cullen crown, was going to play.

As the evening wore on, Edward was nowhere to be seen and slowly, I began to relax. It was only after dinner when I saw him and my breath caught in my throat. Damn if the fucker didn't look good. Dressed in a dark tuxedo, he looked every inch the dark prince his detractors had called him. Broad shoulders, his hair was wild as ever, but swept in a way that invited fingers to run through it.

_Fuck his hair_. All I could think about was his cock.

Esme wasted no time announcing his presence, and an expectant hush fell over the room as he made his grand re-entry to polite society. All eyes, some furtive, some openly appraising, were on him. After her short introduction, she introduced the piece they were going to play. Mozart's Sonata in D for four hands, _Allegro con Spirito_, Mozart's only composition written exclusively for two pianos. The crowd applauded with barely concealed excitement.

Edward looked towards the audience and for a moment, I hovered between wanting him to find me and running for cover. He looked straight ahead and bowed.

Aunt and nephew played, starting with a strong introduction. Four hands – twenty fingers – flew over the ivory and black keys in a galloping fashion. They created an intricate, bouncy melody. Esme was in her element. She was graceful and smiling while glancing over at her nephew every once in a while to anticipate, throw, and catch a series of notes and movements. Edward played with simple and disciplined movements, his elbows flaring as he kept up with the brisk and melodious beat.

_Allegro con spirito. _

It was elegantly simple and beautifully infectious. Despite myself, I was buoyed by the music. It was apparent that Edward was setting the pace; his aunt happily playing along with him. After a few minutes they brought the piece to a close, raising their hands in the air before playing the last jubilant notes.

Applause erupted in the room, bringing tears to Esme eyes. She reached out for Edward, and hand in hand, they bowed to an adoring crowd. Carlisle joined them, Alice in tow and the royal tableau was complete. _The king, the queen, the pink princess and the black prince_... The latter, of course, was conquering polite society with ridiculous ease. Edward Cullen, the ex-convict and sociopath being adored, worshiped even, despite his transgressions. I looked at Charlie and had a feeling he was probably thinking the same thing.

This world, where Edward Cullen belonged, was another world where crimes were forgiven in the name of beauty and art. We were nothing but plebs who watched from the sidelines. In the end, the rich and powerful protected their own- excusing their crimes, even when the law did not.

I slipped my hand into the crook of Charlie's arm and gave him a smile. It was during times like this that I could feel my solidarity and affection for him acutely. It was apparent where I belonged. He gave my hand a squeeze and smiled back.

"It seems like we're going to have a rare treat tonight. As everyone knows, it's been a while since Edward played in public," Esme said, while indulgent laughter ran through the crowd.

"Tonight, Edward wants to play a new composition. It's something he started writing after he arrived here in our quiet little corner of the world. Edward is my and Elizabeth's pride and joy, and it is my greatest honor to present you with a rare Cullen piece. It's called..." Esme stopped, looking toward Edward. "What's the name of your piece, darling?"

Edward had shrugged his coat off while Esme was speaking, leaving him in a crisp white tuxedo shirt. He turned and smiled at his aunt as soon as he heard his name, rolling his sleeves to the elbow, flaunting the tattoos he'd gotten in prison.

He scanned the room that was collectively holding its breath in hushed expectation.

"Ride," he announced, as his eyes locked on me.

**XXX**

I loved playing the piano. I loved the tinkling of the keys and how each note was a sound of its own, and when combined with others, it would become a harmony, creating the richest, most diverse tones in music. If played properly, one could coax the widest range of melodies like one could from a woman's body – from the gentlest moans to the loudest screams. I stopped playing, not because I hated it, but because I saw no purpose for it. It made no sense until I'd ridden the train from Seattle to Tacoma and met a horny, sexy girl.

I could deny it, but the fact was little Ms. Swan might well have been the sole driving force behind my renewed interest in music; that and her sweet little pussy. It was keeping me awake at night. I had to find other uses for my hands as the skin on my cock was starting to chafe from too much wanking.

I shouldn't have teased her with the title, but I couldn't resist. I gave a bow that was meant just for her.

_Only for you, my dirty, horny, sexy, wild girl._

I started slow and drowsy, seductive and disarming, like a girl innocently begging to be fucked. The tone picked up after a finger hit a key hard, and then sliding over the board to create a darkly playful and capricious melody. The repressed tone took on a more urgent beat, like lust mounting anonymously and the melody picked up again – not unlike what transpired on the train, on the bed, and inside the shower.

The tempo dominated, creating a rhythm, like my cock burying itself deep into her cunt, thrusting, and pulling... faster and faster, becoming turbulent and jubilant at the same time before falling, ebbing into post-orgasm then sleep. No sooner than the last note faded, the melody would begin its journey again, with an ever-increasing energy and pianistic bravura, underpinned by a low hum like a motorcycle purring.

My fingers flew over the keys, creating wild resounding notes. The strings inside the piano quivered as I played the keyboard, hard, taut and stretched. Tonic and dominant harmonies alternated like moans and grunts; fucks and pleasure. There wasn't a moment of calm, no _cadenza ad lib_, only a whirlwind of sound, of want, of pure unadulterated lust and need. Movement and pleasure played with an overwhelming crescendo of _prestissimo _octaves, ascending then descending like sure and steady thrusts as I played the entire range of the keyboard as sure as I played her body. Then finally..._finally_, I let the piece dissolve into its wild, orgasmic conclusion.

I stood up after the last note, breathing raggedly like I'd just jerked off in front of a hundred people. The crowd came to its feet with me.

Applause erupted, loud and celebratory. I could hear the shouts of bravo over the sound of hands clapping. The cheers and whispers of awe almost made me laugh out loud. Everything was so fucking easy. My mother's old cronies, my dad's business associates, and other people I hadn't seen for eight fucking years were patting me on the back and giving me air kisses. I could understand Esme and Carlisle, even loony little Alice, for their enthusiasm. They'd had to endure the humiliation of being related to me for eight years while these idiots took turns reviling me.

There was only one person in the entire crowd who knew what it meant. And she wasn't even clapping.

She was looking at me, slack jawed – horrified disbelief written on her face. All I wanted to do was shout to her.

Yes, I fucking dared.

Yes, I'd just played a song to the entire goddamned room illustrating how much I loved fucking you.

I didn't give a fuck that her father was in the room, clapping heartily. If he'd known what it was all about, he'd string me up by my balls.

She turned to him for a second, said something, and then left the room abruptly.

"That was marvelous...marvelous, Edward."

"Thank you." I gritted my teeth, forcing myself not to backhand whoever had said it. Why can't people say a word just once? It's always wonderful, wonderful...beautiful, beautiful.

Fuck you...fuck you all.

Esme was silent, too choked up to speak while Alice bounced beside her. The last three weeks had been the first time I'd played since my mother, and the first time I played the piece with Esme. Mozart was always reserved for my mother and Esme to play. _Allegro con spirito._ Lively with spirit. Much like my mother was. It was almost unthinkable to play it now, but I felt like I stopped missing Elizabeth Masen-Cullen, my mother, teacher and friend, while I played it.

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't for me," Carlisle said, clapping me on the back. My uncle was a smart man. I only laughed and returned the gesture.

"Can you excuse me for a minute?" I turned to everyone and made sweeping gestures towards the gardens. "I'm just going to get some air."

I needed a smoke and a good fuck. Getting the former was easy enough.

Jasper's gizmo was useful with short range tracking as well as long range. I turned it on, searching for _her_.

She was sitting behind the wheel of a bucket of rust like she'd decided to make a run for it, and then decided against it.

"You didn't like my surprise." She looked up, startled. Amazing how I could've thought she was uninteresting at first. Long lashes, pink baby cheeks, face of an angel, and lips that were made for sucking cock. Not to mention the small, tight body under the blue baby doll dress.

"No, it was...fantastic." Lame, but I'd take it. It was still better than all the bullshit heaped on me earlier.

"Don't act so impressed on my account," I teased.

She laughed nervously and watched me light up. I could see the soft mounds of her breasts rise up and down under her dress as she breathed. She started drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, restless. She'd stop, then bite her lip or her thumb. My cock followed those little distracting movements with close attention.

"How does it feel? To be good at everything?"

"Boring." Fame was uninspiring. "Wanna go back inside?"

Not that I wanted to, but I was almost sure her truck didn't have air-conditioning. She shook her head no again, _thank fucking god._

"If you insist on being in the dark with me, can we move somewhere more comfortable?" Her truck was a hideous piece of crap. Somebody should've had the mercy to driving it off a cliff; or set it on fire. "I'd prefer somewhere without the threat of being cut and contracting tetanus."

Her fingers stopped tapping as she turned to me, offended. "Fuck you."

I laughed. "Yes, please."

I opened the driver's door, intent on prying her out. She was sitting primly with her knees together, feet apart; tense and rigid. She was toying with the hem of her dress, her thumb and forefinger balling the stray threads together.

The sight of her bare knees was enough to drive me crazy. I _wanted_ to lick the skin peeking out from under the skirt. I _wanted_ to bunch her dress around her waist. I _wanted_ to twist her panties to the side and bury my tongue inside her pussy. _Jesus fucking christ_. I _wanted_ her...

"Get down, love. It's too cold out here."

After a few moments, she got out of the truck and I casually led her away from the main house. I couldn't risk bringing her to the pink hell that was my room. Somebody might look for me there. Besides, there were dozens of cars around us with unlocked doors or windows, all presumed safe inside the gates of the Cullen mansion. They were ready for the taking...not that I would. There was nothing worth stealing among the sorry lot. At the far end of one lane, hidden from the view, I spotted a fairly new BMW; dark, heavily tinted, with tall and spacious backseats.

Bingo.

I couldn't wait to get her inside it and me, inside _her_.

I opened the door to the back seat, slid in, pulling her in with me. She landed on my lap, her skirt riding higher, with her tantalizing knees in full view. I put my hand on one knee and squeezed. She tensed, pressing her legs closer, and then tried to scramble out. The car rocked. _Fuck_.

"Keep still, dammit."

"Jesus, whose car is this?"

"Fuck if I know," I whispered near her ear before sucking on the tip of her lobe. Wasting no time, I slipped my hand under her skirt, moving it up and down her bare thigh. Her legs were smooth like she'd just waxed. She squirmed, pressing her ass on my already hard cock. I stroked up and down her silky skin toward the waistband of her panties and reached under the fabric to cup and rub her mound. Soft fuzz has already grown over it, her slit warm and slippery. I cocked a finger.

"Edward!" She arched her back and my middle finger slipped in effortlessly, instead of out.

"Shhh..." I covered her mouth with my hand, holding her against me, working my finger into her pussy, before inserting another one. She bucked again, rocking the car.

"Shhhh, quiet down." She was already breathing rapidly, her tits thrust against her thin cotton bra. My cock was straining against my pants, begging to be released but she wasn't that wet yet and if I fucked her before she was ready, she wouldn't be able to walk.

My fingers pressed hard inside her, playing a melody that made her body hum, murmuring how I'd love to eat her. Lick her... make her come in my mouth. How sweet and tight she was...how my cock loved her tight little pussy. How I wanted to squeeze her tits, to bite and suckle...how I loved fucking her, and how I'd like to fuck her, hard...rough...and fast...

In no time, she was moaning softly against my hand, riding my fingers with little hip thrusts. My cock was so hard it was painful. I loosened my hand over her mouth and inserted one finger for her to suck on and bite. "Good?"

"Edward, please..." Moany, breathy, needy.

"Please what, baby?"

I could say it was her fault for being so fucking hot and horny, but in less a minute I had her panties off, her skirt bunched around her waist, and flat on her back. I was tonguing her sweet pussy, licking her clean as she gushed softly and gently on my face. She mewled and hissed and called me fucking names while I loosened my pants. I jerked myself off while she came...again...and again...and again.

"My turn." I straightened her on the seat and climbed on top of her, pushing her knees to her chest before straightening them against my shoulders. She planted both feet on the interior of the vehicle as I pulled her pelvis up to meet mine. I eased my cock in slowly...bit by bit into her wet, slick pussy. She arched and moaned, holding on to the side door begging me to fuck her. Ram into her. Give it to her good and hard.

Fuck me...fuck me...fuck me...oh Edward, Edward...Edward, don't stop...don't stop...

My _dirty, dirty_ girl.

She bent her knees while pushing against the roof of the car. With a powerful thrust of her legs, she took my cock deep inside her.

Fuck, if I didn't forget to breathe for a moment.

I didn't know how we managed the next few minutes without attracting serious attention. I wasn't sure how a rocking car escaped the watchful eye of the security Carlisle had hired to keep an eye on the grounds, or how the grunts and moans and my dirty girl's screams of pleasure failed to have them looking for the murder. After several minutes she'd quieted down and the intense feeling of wanting to stay inside her for as long as I could began to ease a little. Only then were she and I able to stand next to each other without rutting like sheep.

"You really know how to make a girl feel special," she said, looking at the BMW, deducing that it was probably one of the guests' cars. "I'm not an idiot, you know."

"I never said you were."

"I know what you are," she said. It made me laugh a little. I doubt if she had the slightest idea what I was capable of, or how wide my appetites were, and what I could possibly do to her.

"I know what you want," she continued, "and I know what happens after."

I lit up and watched her as I blew smoke into the cool night air. She wasn't nervous, fidgeting or scared. She was looking at me with quiet determination.

"What about what you want?" I never gave promises and somehow, I knew she wasn't looking for one.

"I don't know what I want." The poor girl; she wanted to stay away from me but couldn't. Much like I couldn't stay away from her.

"Tell you what," I said, rolling a half smoked cigarette between my fingers. "How about we take it easy for a while? You have exams, right?" I had a million things to do too, especially with Jasper in Italy and Garrett working on assembling the new team. I needed all my wits around me.

"Take it easy?" She frowned. "We don't have anything to take easy. We fuck, that's all."

"Call it whatever you want."

"Look, Edward, you're fantastic and I like the way you make me feel..."

She stopped, but I could have told her what she wanted to say. I felt the same way. She made me feel alive, delirious even. Like a drug, she made me forget everything else.

"But?"

"But I don't think it's going to work."

_It's already working_, I wanted to tell her. There was no way out as far as I was concerned. I was a selfish creature and I'd happily indulge in my obsessions, no matter how dangerous or self-destructing they might be.

"Let's just enjoy it, then."

She was silent, weighing my words. As long as I stayed hidden in the background, there'd be no catch. She could indulge herself with me and I with her as long as we both wanted. Simple.

"Go back inside, your father will be wondering where you are."

She went in and a couple of minutes later, I wandered back into the party.

Father and daughter were saying their goodbyes to Carlisle and Esme when I decided to make my presence known. I strolled to them casually just as they were turning for the door.

"Oh," Esme called them back. "I forgot to introduce you two. Bella, darling, come meet our dear Edward."

"Edward, this is Bella, Chief Swan's daughter."

I looked at her coolly, uninterestedly, as she gazed back at me with back stiffening in tension.

"Pleased to meet you, Bella." I brought her hand to my lips where it lingered, loving the tense, then horrified look on her face. Her father cleared his throat beside her and after a grunted hello, they were off. Gone from the mansion and my life.

At least for a while...

**XXX**

**Mozart Sonata for Two Pianos in D, K. 448, First Movement** http: / www . youtube. com/watch?v=v58mf-PB8as

**How long do you all think they'll last away from each other? **

**Review. :)  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**Kisses**** to my betas for polishing and making this chapter shiny, twice over.**

**to the wonderful eviekinz; **

**to my M, always. Feel better soon.**

**Chapter 8**

**XXX**

It was going to be one of those long days where everything sucked. From midmorning onwards, I was stuck in the library doing a paper on Colton Harris-Moore, the "barefoot bandit." It was due for my next class and I haven't even made a dent at the hundreds of files I needed to go through.

Moore, an enfant terrible, was quite the romantic figure. He stole five small aircraft, a boat and two cars, and was a suspect in the burglaries of at least 100 private residences - all before turning eighteen. His first offense was when he was twelve. He had three more by the time he turned 13. But for all his notoriety, Moore never did anything that actually harmed anyone. He stole things people didn't really need and he left everyone alone.

Funny, he sounded so much like someone I knew.

Without meaning to, my mind drifted to _his _case. Over the last few days, I'd pulled everything the police and courts had on Edward Cullen: reports, transcripts, and sworn statements; all made available using Charlie's clearance. Edward was as fascinating as a criminal as he was in the flesh. The network he'd built in such a short a time was staggering; his control over it was nothing short of spectacular. No one went against him, not even after his arrest. Granted he'd had millions of dollars at his fingertips and he'd spent it liberally, buying the underworld's loyalty with cash. If he'd been given a few more years, he would've been invincible; a virtual mafia all by himself.

My attention shifted to his trial transcripts which I had tucked under one of my books. I'd been reading them on and off, and more than a dozen questions had already jumped out at me. He was tried and sentenced for two robberies. One in L.A. and another in New York, but the trial was peppered with references to other states and places outside the U.S. Then there was the mysterious, but unproven accomplice, the circumstances surrounding his arrest, and his relationship to Tanya Denali who, it turned out, was a good five years older than he was.

I wondered if he'd tell me if I asked for the details outright. It would be such a great opportunity to see how he worked and to get into the mind of a master criminal.

The curiosity was starting to eat at me again, and before I could give in to the urge of picking up from where I'd left off reading, I gathered the trial papers briskly into my bag. I shut my laptop and decided to leave the library. I would just have to think of an excuse for why I hadn't finished my Moore paper.

I seriously needed to focus. Since Carlisle's birthday, I'd been distracted in my classes, and short-tempered with my friends. I'd even snapped at Rosalie, which is something I'd never done before. If I didn't pull myself together, something was bound to give. Like my grades, or my dignity if I didn't stop myself in time and go to him crawling, begging for his cock.

I needed coffee; it was either that, or get laid. Coffee was easier so I went to the nearest stand and stood in line.

My phone rang just when I was nearly at the counter.

"Hello?"

There was heavy breathing on the line, like in movies where a stalker breathes into the phone to get himself off. _Geez. Just what I fucking ordered_.

I snapped my phone shut, but it rang again. Again, I hung up.

And again...

"Look, perv, whoever you are, do not attempt to call this number again or I'll have you-"

"Have me what?"

The low, sleepy drawl stopped me in my tracks. "Edward?"

"Are you expecting someone else?" His voice was soft and breathy, like he'd just woken up. It went straight to my crotch before my brain registered it was already almost lunch. What the fuck was he doing in bed?

"What do you want?" I didn't mean to be gruff, but he hadn't called at all and frankly, I'd been chaffing at his last seemingly casual dismissal. Besides, I couldn't think of any reason why he'd call me in the middle of a busy school day, unless he was in trouble. Or sick; maybe that's why he was breathing like a pervert.

"Mmm... you..." _What the fuck_? My concern flew out of the window. The bastard really was jerking off just as I first thought. An image assaulted me, unbidden: Edward on a big bed, his head thrown back against the pillows, eyes half-closed, legs spread out. His cock, hard and angry. His hand wrapped around it, pumping himself to the rhythm of my breathing. I could hear him lick his lips before murmuring "suck it, baby...yeah, just like that..." as if I was there, mouth wrapped around his cock, head bobbing between his legs. I stopped breathing, stunned.

"Stay on the line," he pant-pleaded. "Please, sweetheart."

It must have been the please or the sweetheart, but I didn't hang up. I left the stand without getting my coffee and looked for somewhere to sit. My knees were threatening to give out. I realized, to my dismay, that I'd do almost anything when he used that breathy, needy voice. I stayed on the line, listening to his slow, quick gasps, his murmurs as he pleasured himself, his breath hitching every once in a while.

I could hear him drink something, the sound of ice cubes tinkling as he tilted the liquid into his mouth. I imagined his throat clenching and unclenching as he gulped it down; whiskey or maybe rum. Something hard, like the way he fucked. Damn if that didn't make me hot. I closed my eyes, swallowing thickly. I could feel colour creep into my face and down my neck as my heart began to beat faster, the moisture between my thighs gathering. Fuck, he only needed to breath and I was there.

I heard rustling, like he'd shifted into another position before exhaling a choked cry, and my breath hitched. He'd heard it which caused his own breathing to sped up. The rustling became louder, like his movements were getting wilder. I knew that he was close when he starting groaning. There were quick and desperate "_ahhs_,_"_ along with ragged breathing. I gripped my phone, almost snapping it in half just before he gritted out a pained "_fuck" _over the line. He stayed on for several more minutes, until his breathing, and mine, evened out.

"Thanks, sweetheart." There was relief in his voice like he'd really, really needed that. I sat there on a bench in a busy pathway, speechless. My eyes had glazed over and my mouth hung open like a dying fish. I heard him take another mouthful of whatever he was drinking, savouring it with a hearty moan.

Before I could say anything, he hung up. No bye, or call you later. I was left horny, frustrated and so, so wet.

The selfish jerk! I didn't even get the cursory phone sex dialogue. Wasn't I supposed to touch myself, too? I couldn't, of course. If he was the savvy thinker everyone made him out to be, he'd assume that I was somewhere crowded and that I couldn't do anything while I listened to him wank. If he wanted phone sex, he should've had the manners to reciprocate.

I still came spectacularly on my fingers that night.

The next day he called again, then intermittently after that. It was always during busy hours of the day, or while I was in a crowded place: during lunch, in the middle of a study session, inside the library... He was taunting me; teasing, making sure that I had to wait until my classes were over before I could get off.

Some nights, I'd come satisfactorily and the intense craving would fade into a dull, aching throb between my legs. Others, only barely before I'd drift into restless sleep dreaming of huge penises. I'd wake up horny, frustrated and ready to bite everyone's head off. I knew what he was doing. He was working me up, making me hungry for more.

Fuck, if it wasn't working.

I considered alternatives to scratch the itch. Fucking other men was out of the question as I simply didn't have the urge nor the energy to preen myself even for a friendly date. Besides, who needed other men when Edward Cullen was on the line?

After much deliberation, I settled for a toy. Swallowing my own embarrassment, I made a purchase online and prayed that nobody would find out. I was racking up my number of potentially embarrassing secrets. I knew that pretty soon, one, or all of them, would see the light of day and bite me in the ass.

The toy helped, though, if only a little.

The day after exams, Rosalie asked me to join her and Emmett for a night out with some friends. I'd been up to my neck with cases, papers and reports. Inwardly, I was puking at my impression of being a good girl so I said yes.

Surprisingly, I had a good time. It was liberating to be with friends and not think of anything or anyone else. So when everyone paired off and left me to myself, I didn't feel left out or pressured into picking up the nearest, remotely-interesting guy. I just said my goodbyes, thanking everyone for a pleasant time and made my way back to the dormitory.

To get back faster, I cut across campus right past the fraternity houses where some loud and rowdy parties were being held. I didn't think much of them and was surprised when I ran into someone just when I was turning into a deserted stretch of the road. The street was dimly lit, but I knew him so I wasn't overly concerned. James Carter used to date Rosalie. He half-swayed into my path, blocking me.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing out so late?"

Christ, could someone give him a more original line? "Fuck off, James."

He laughed. "Hey, I know you! Tough-as-nails Bella Swan. How have you been?"

"Fine."

"You know, I've always been curious about you," he slurred, draping a drunken arm around my shoulders. "Rosalie told me you didn't get around much, but I bet you're just a hellcat in bed, aren't you Bella Swan?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I shrugged him off, starting to get uncomfortable. He was big, but he was also drunk and clumsy so I could easily take him. I reached into my bag casually and wrapped my fingers around my trusty old butterfly knife.

"So, what'll it take to get you to suck my cock?"

At least he was direct. I paused, as if considering. An extra large penis, a dirty mouth, a penchant for stealing cars...nope-

"Nothing you have," I said. The creep just laughed again.

I'm not sure how everything happened after that. It was all over so fast. One minute James was talking about his cock. The next moment, he was flying into the air as the bumper of a dark SUV connected painfully with his ass. Not hard, but enough to bounce him against the windshield. The SUV reversed and swerved, throwing him to the ground. James was up in a second, shouting, and cursing the motherfucker who ran him over, but whoever it was only gunned the engine harder. The stupid fucker didn't even realize he was going to get run over again. I pushed him to the side just as the driver accelerated, knowing instinctively he wasn't going to hit a girl.

More specifically, he wasn't going to hit me.

**XXX**

The wheels screeched to a full stop, the bumper mere inches from her knees. All I wanted to do was to lay her across mine and spank her. I wasn't going to kill the motherfucker. If I'd wanted to, he'd be dead, but there was no need for fucking heroics.

I wasn't some knight in a shining fucking armour. It was apparent by the way she'd been standing that she hadn't felt threatened, just creeped out. She'd her hand inside her bag, around a bottle of Mace, maybe, or something more hardcore, like a knife. She didn't need my help, but I ran the creep over, just the same. It wasn't even his fault I was so pissed off. I'd just had a long, tiring week and he just happened to be there feeling up my girl.

Funny how he scrambled out of the way after she pushed him_; fucking coward_.

I wasn't even supposed to be in Tacoma. I was supposed to be in Seattle picking up Jasper at the airport so I could introduce him to my hick family. But fuck if seeing her worked up and pissed off wasn't worth the little detour. Just seeing her, tense and breathing fire was already making me feel better.

She was absolutely livid at my little prank.

If only I had a few minutes more to spare, I'd yank her in and spank her for real. Then have a quick fuck inside the car and a long, drawn-out one on the hood, right there on the fucking street. I could barely restrain myself.

I've had years of experience and could cope with months of self-deprivation, but the past few weeks had been pure fucking hell. If only I didn't have so much to do, I'd be climbing to her room every night, even if only to smell her panties. But first runs rarely go as planned. Especially with someone too fucking nice like Jasper at the helm. Then the fucking FBI just had to interfere. First, they arrested Randall, one of my original team just when Jasper was getting to him. Then, they spooked Garrett. On top of it all, they awarded the bitch Tanya with a Medal of Valour for infiltrating some ring in some hell-hole in New Mexico.

I'd been pissed off for days and now I'd damn well pissed my girl off, too. It would've been just right for an angry fuck-fest.

Pity. I'd just have to put that thought on hold or else Jasper was going to start running around the airport like a headless chicken. The dork could be so inflexible and irrational at times. If something didn't go the way he laid things out, like me picking him up at the airport right on fucking time, I wasn't going to hear the end of it.

I left, leaving my girl simmering with rage. There was going to be hell to pay later.

Jasper was shuffling his feet, looking neglected and pathetic on the sidewalk when I saw him. I pulled into the lane beside him, late by a mere five minutes. Behind him was a mountain of luggage; boxes of different sizes, cases, crates. He traveled worse than any girl I knew.

"You planning on raiding a small country?" The pile was huge.

He turned, as if seeing his things for the first time. "It's your equipment."

I probably needed it, too. It had been a pain following everything through the small gizmo he'd given me weeks before.

"Did you manage to pull Randall out?" Jasper asked as soon as we crammed everything inside the SUV. As soon as he was seated, he started playing with a rectangular device that looked like a recorder...or a detonating device.

"Working on it."

He laughed. "Slowpoke."

I was, decidedly, as slow as a snail. It took me days to do what I could have accomplished in hours eight years ago. Simple things like setting up false flags and springing a team member from jail.

"At least I didn't have to call in Irina and Kate to clean up my mess."

"Aro was playing hard-ass," Jasper reasoned.

It couldn't be helped. Jasper just wasn't the negotiator I wanted him to be. In the thick of the talks, I had to call in Irina and Katrina "Kate" Deveyrenko to smooth things out. I'd originally thought of sending the sisters right away, but I wanted to see if Jasper could take it.

He couldn't.

So into the mess went Irina and Kate, two of my most savvy negotiators. The sisters were so dedicated to their missions that they'd fuck their way through a phalanx of men and women to get me what I wanted. Within three days, they'd hammered out an agreement with the Volturi, giving us up to 70% of proceeds of each car successfully resold.

"We're using them from now on," I told him, while Jasper sighed in disappointment, mumbling a series of apologies and "I-told-you's."

"Shut up, all right? So what if you don't have enough sleaze to negotiate with the fuckers? Means there's still hope for you yet."

"Kate thought it was funny you wanted to give them half."

"They deserve it."

"They said they would do it for free." Jasper said, and looked at me accusingly like I'd done something cruel just because I got freebies. All this time, Jasper refused to look at the seedy, unsavoury part of what we were doing. He'd closed himself off with his gizmos and gadgets, refusing to recognize that people get used and abused to stay ahead of the game.

"They're not doing it for me, Jas." Irina and Kate did it for themselves. "Did you send them to Romania?"

"They're with Stephan and Vlad now."

"And Liam?"

"Bloody happy to bloody hear from the boss," he said, in an awful imitation of Liam's thick brogue. "Siobhan and Maggie, too."

It was something nobody would've expected of a car theft ring. When I started out, most of my "colleagues" were not only of the same age as me, a good number of them were girls. Smart, pretty daughters of family friends and acquaintances, all bored with their lives in one way or the other. All easily trained and willing to jump into whatever I threw them in, and fuck whoever I told them to. They'd all grown into gorgeous, self-made women while I was away.

"Zafrina and Senna?"

"All ready to go."

Excellent. The rest of the ring would be no harder to reactivate. Lucia and Maria in Mexico, Alistair and Charles in Norway, even Amun and Bejamin in Egypt, where most of the deals would be taking place. We'd just have to work double time on the U.S. team. With Randall in FBI custody and Garrett jittery, that left only Mary, Peter and Charlotte. We were going to need two more at least.

"You have someone in mind?" It was amazing how Jasper could tell what I was thinking.

"I'll let you decide if she can hack it."

We switched seats just outside Forks' limits. I didn't want to risk a violation of my parole. The vehicle really was Jasper's, anyway. I detested SUVs, even ifit was a BMW.

Jasper grew jumpy as we neared the mansion. He'd always been wary of meeting people, even those he'd known his whole life. Tough. He would just have to learn to tolerate Esme.

"Jasper! How long has it been?" Esme was on hand to welcome us. A snug embrace and a kiss to each cheek. Jasper endured it well – not cringing or shying away. He disliked being touched.

"Uh, too long?" He wasn't even stuttering. Not yet.

"Come in, darling," Esme pulled him into the house. "Alice! Come meet our guest."

Alice was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, probably under orders not to go elsewhere until she met "Edward's friend." She stood up and eyed Jasper with the frankness of a sixteen-year old.

The dork was looking everywhere except her.

"What do you have there?" Alice asked him, not very wisely.

"What? Where?"

"In your hand."

"Oh, this?" Jasper held up the device, a small gizmo he'd been fiddling with the entire ride from Seattle. "It's a voice recognition device. I put in voice patterns of people I talk to and added SPLICE to the recognition system so when they talk, the device can talk back or tell them what they want to know according to who they are and their needs. And oh, SPLICE means Stereo based Piecewise Linear Compensation for Environment. It's an algorithm-"

"Jasper," I shook his shoulder, interrupting his toneless lecture before he could launch into a discussion of voice to text applications in high-performance aircrafts and helicopters. "How about we first put your things –"

"How does it work?" The girl actually interrupted me.

"Like this," Jasper turned to me. "Edward, say something."

"Uh, hello?" _Dork._

"You're late, Edward," the device chirped in the disemboweled voice of an airport announcer.

"Cool," Alice laughed and miracle of miracles, Jasper laughed with her.

He reached out to Alice, shyly offering her the gadget. "You want to try it?"

Not exactly what I was hoping for, but close.

**XXX**

**The SPLICE thing is from the movie Adam****. Go watch. Hugh Dancy is seriously cute.**

**Have you voted for your faves at the Hidden Awards yet? I think evie and a bunch of great gals are there somewhere :)**

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**And oh, check out my other story, "Caught." For laughs. **


	9. Chapter 9

_**Thanks my betas, eviekinz and M. Love you both, girls.**_

_**Thanks also to another M, a queen and car (s)expert, for sharing with me one of her favorite things. :D**_

_**Plot, what plot?**_

_**XXX**_

I had it all planned out.

It all seemed pretty easy in theory. All I had to do was scale eight feet of the back fence of a certain mansion. I'd been to aerial recon with Charlie several times so I knew where the weak parts of the fence were. Once in, I only needed to break into a small, slightly pink cottage Esme had talked about for months. It shouldn't be much of a hassle.

It seemed pretty logical, too. Exams were over and everyone was out relaxing, drinking and God knows what else. I resolved to go home to Forks to face Edward. He did say we'd see each other after exams and I was done with waiting.

For the first time in my life, I deliberately lied to my father. I called him up, told him I was going to Kingston with some friends for the weekend and that we were going hiking, of all things. Charlie didn't even stop to wonder why I was going. Next to fishing, I abhorred hiking and camping and everything that had to do with the great outdoors. Charlie only told me to enjoy myself, to take care, check my gear, blah blah blah.

Rosalie, tired of my bitchiness, covered for me. I packed an overnight bag, got hold of some ropes and took the early evening bus trip home.

Scaling the wall and getting inside the cottage was easy enough. Figuring out what to do next was harder. Especially since Edward was nowhere to be found.

The cottage wasn't even a "cottage" in the traditional sense. It was more of a small, specialized house. The small living room led to a small kitchen to one side and farther back was a door. Curiosity led me towards it.

It was a bedroom, with a large bed and crisp sheets. But it wasn't the bed that caught my attention. It was the long table on one side of the wall. On it were computers, lots of them, makine the room look more like a control room than a bedroom.

Before I could get inside, I heard two voices, both male. _Fuck_. I wasn't expecting him to have company. I expected him to be alone, preferably pining for me in the privacy of his bedroom. Just like I'd been doing for the past three days since he left me, mouth hanging open, in the middle of the street after he'd just run James over.

Obviously, he hadn't felt the same compulsion because here he was, laughing and joking with somebody I'd never seen before. A friend? One of his associates? Maybe the owner of the computers?

They were nearly inside when I remembered the other door I'd seen when I came in and dashed towards it. I figured it was a safer option than the bedroom. Wrong. The room seemed more lived-in than the bedroom. Books cluttered the floor, with a small but well-stocked bar on one side. In the middle stood a grand piano and behind it, a large couch. Damn. I could imagine him sprawled on it, a glass in one hand, the phone wedged between his shoulder and ear, whispering dirty things while his other hand stroked and pumped his cock. This was where he called me from, torturing me with his words, his breathing, for his own pleasure.

The devil himself walked in and turned on the lights a few minutes later. I shrank back into the corner, wondering why I was hiding. I came here to be seen, not to cower in semi-darkness waiting to be caught.

He went directly to the bar and fixed himself a drink. He drank whatever it was in one gulp, chuckled quietly, and spoke.

"Are you going to hide there all night?"

What the hell?

He turned to the corner where I was sulking and grinned.

"Couldn't wait, huh?"

Rage overwhelmed me. For three fucking days, I hadn't been able to sleep properly, thinking over how crazy he was and how much crazier I was for wanting him despite it. I knew that I was nothing but a toy for him but I'd be fucked if I didn't get something in return. Like a little respect, a little consideration.

I stepped from the shadows, marched up to him and threw the first punch. Pain shot through my arm after my fist connected with his jaw. Damn, it hurt. But fuck if it wasn't supremely satisfying to see him stagger a step backwards, astonished shock on his face. I brought up my other hand, hitting him on the other side. I didn't know what possessed me to think that hitting him would solve anything but I was too angry, too frustrated and humiliated. All I wanted was for him to have matching, shiny bruises on each side of his pretty face in the morning.

Two more blows and he caught my wrist in mid-swing and twisted. He pivoted, using my momentum, and I found myself crashing against the wall. His face hovered near mine, one hand holding my wrist while the other braced my other arm against the wall. I was trapped but it would be so easy to throw him off. All I had to do was connect my knee to his groin and wait for that painful shriek.

I didn't.

I wasn't prepared for what I saw. His face was flushed, his pupils so dilated that his eyes were almost completely black. His heart thrummed in tune to my ragged breaths and it was hot...God, it was so hot that I suddenly wanted him off me but at the same time, I didn't. I was acutely aware of the length of his body against mine, of his cock pressing against my stomach. I wanted him around me, against me, inside me.

"My turn," he growled, freeing my arm so he could wrap his hand around my neck. I could feel long fingers on my skin, tilting my head to one side. He leaned down and flicked his tongue on exposed skin. I closed my eyes and let myself feel. Lips replaced tongue and I couldn't help but hiss as he tasted me; skin and sweat and heaving breaths.

"Stay still."

Even if I wanted to, I couldn't move. A hand around my neck held me firmly in place and I could feel his hand tighten a little every time I squirmed. His other hand fumbled with the button of my jeans, shoving them down roughly as his other hand pinned me to the wall.

"Look at me...look at me before I fuck you...look at me..."

He was rough and merciless, squeezing and rubbing me through my panties. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I knew I needed it, too. The violence, the rage, the frenzy. It was something we'd both shared and craved from the beginning. On that train, at that Inn when we were nothing but two strangers with an incomprehensible need.

I gasped as he thrust a finger in, and then another, pumping in and out, his face close to mine as he watched the pressure build inside me agonizingly.

I came screaming, splintering against his hand. He smiled in wicked triumph. He shoved my panties down, fumbled with his own jeans and shoved them down just as carelessly as he did with mine. Without warning, he rammed his cock into me. It was so hard I was left breathless, my body tensing in shock.

"Breathe...," he gritted out. "Breathe, dammit."

He started moving, roughly at first before becoming gentler, slower. He shifted his hand to the back of my neck, smoothing hair out of the way.

Then the kisses began...

The endearments...

The caresses...

The murmurs telling me that I felt so good...so tight and wet and he wanted to fuck me so bad...panting and groaning against my mouth and my neck.

That it was so fucking good.

Slowly, I adjusted to him, clinging to his shoulders as he started to fuck me mercilessly against the wall. I sank deeper and deeper into the sensations until there was nothing but him inside me, his mouth, his tongue, his lips and his voice. I came again and slumped against him, drained of what was left of my energy.

I thought that would be it but I was wrong. He brought me to the couch I'd been eyeing earlier and lowered me. He stripped me of my clothes before he began stripping out of his own.

Then it began in earnest: the steady, relentless fucking. On my back, legs over his shoulders, against the couch, on my stomach, on the side, on my knees, above him, below him, my back turned to him, me facing him.

Slow until I groaned my release, hard until I squealed in pleasure. When he'd came, he'd pull out, his mouth replacing his cock. He would fuck me with his tongue or his fingers until he was ready again.

I lost track of time after a while.

"No, no more..." The pressure was rising again with him inside me and if I came one more time, I was certain I'd break.

"Oh, God..."

**XXX**

"Just one more," I told her. "One more, baby."

She tried to scramble off the couch but I pinned her down, keeping my thrusts at a slow, steady pace.

"Shhh...shhh..."

"Oh, God..oh, God..." She writhed as I sucked on nipples, sensitive from the abuse I'd administered to her body, strung out from cumming too many times.

"So good..."

"Too much...oh, God...Edward!"

"Breathe, baby, breathe..."

"Can't...take...it..."

"Let go..."

She bucked and squealed when she came again, nearly falling off the couch. She was shaking and quivering but I didn't stop, I couldn't break rhythm.

"We're doing this my way, all right?"

I doubted if she wanted another aftermath like this. There would be no more waiting, no more wanking like a deranged monkey while the other was on the phone. No more climbing over fences and hanging about in the dark. She'd come when I wanted her and I'd be wherever she wanted me.

She nodded and moaned her agreement into my mouth. I figured she'd say yes to anything just to get me off her.

"One more...just one more..." She started to shake her head and I pulled on her hair, tilting her face. Her eyes were half-closed, glazed with delirious pleasure. Her lips were slightly parted as she gasped with each thrust. Her skin glowed from exertion, her hair a wild cloud on her head.

Gorgeous, just fucking gorgeous.

"God, I missed you..."

"Liar..."

I knew then that if I hadn't met her on the train, I would've met her somewhere at some point and I would've hounded her ass. It would've just taken us a little longer but we'd end up where we were – tangled in my sheets, on my couch, with my cock deep inside her.

I knew she was tired and if I didn't finish soon, she was going to fall asleep while I fucked her. I rode her faster, my thrusts quickening, my hands squeezing her tits.

The moment I came, I wanted to fuck her again.

"Mmmtired..." she mumbled, shifting, shoving me away. I shifted with her, moulding her little frame into mine. I wasn't going anywhere.

To avoid crushing her, I pulled her over to my side. She ended up half-sprawled over me, my cock still deep inside her. She really was tired. I knew she hadn't been sleeping well but dammit, I was nowhere near satiated. I started to pump into her, watching my cock, slick with her cum, slide in and out.

"Edward...," she sighed, pouty and exasperated.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna sleep..."

Fine. She didn't have to be awake, anyway. I rolled her to her back and went down on her, licking and sucking her pussy at my leisure. After a while, she started squirming again, murmuring weak curses. They only spurred me on.

"Go away," she mumbled and rolled onto her stomach, burrowing far into the couch, her tight, little ass on full display. It was like she was taunting me.

"Goddammit!" She yelped in surprise when I bit the curve of her ass. She growled, slapped and shoved me, cursing me to an early grave while I tried to subdue her. But she let me gather her up after a short fight and curled her body against mine once again. We both groaned as I slid into her .

"You're insatiable," she grumbled but moaned when I started thrusting deep inside her. It was her fucking fault that I couldn't get enough of her.

"I'll let you sleep...later..."

Finding the right rhythm became easier, building the pressure that much faster.

My hand was to her hair, her tongue in my mouth, swallowing the fucks and her yeah's and so good's. She thought it was bullshit when I told her she was beautiful, that I couldn't get enough of her, that she felt so good I could fuck her all night. She'd snorted at what she thought were absurdities.

I came just as another orgasm hit her, clinging to her as I rode it out. She collapsed and rolled over like a sack of potatoes on the couch as soon as I was done. I stayed inside her for a couple of minutes more, kissing her shoulders down to her arms, sucking on her fingers until she complained again and told me to go fuck myself for a while.

Reluctantly, I rolled away to let her sleep.

I was fucking starving, anyway, and I needed to see what Jasper was up to. I'd give her two hours, tops.

She was fast asleep before I could put my pants back on.

**XXX**

**Ok, ladies, gimme some love and review.  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**Here goes...**

**Thanks to eviekinz and M, for the comments and betawork.**

**To everyone who tweeted, rec'ed, talked about and/or pimped the fuck out of Ride, thank you.**

**You fucking rock. Seriously.**

**Chapter 10**

**XXX**

I found Jasper inside the bedroom, headphones on. He'd declared the room his as soon as he'd arrived, so I was forced to bunk in the piano room, sleeping on the couch.

I tapped him on the shoulder and sighed. "Thought you wanted to work in the kitchen?"

He stood up abruptly, went out of the room and pointed to a device discreetly mounted above the piano room's door frame.

_Right, the neutralizer_.

When turned on, it picked up whatever was played inside the room, like recordings of disjointed piano playing when I was supposed to be practicing but was monitoring Jasper's negotiations instead. Otherwise, it functioned as an anti-bugging device, filling unregulated frequencies within the 200 meter radius with static.

_Damn_. I'd forgotten to turn it off. It would've picked up every sound of the porn-fest.

"Sorry 'bout that."

Jasper just rolled his eyes and went back to what he was doing.

"Did she see this?" Jasper motioned at the computers.

"Probably." Admittedly, I should be more worried. She'd be suspicious, but what would a bunch of monitors and computers prove? "Don't worry about it."

I could always tell her it was Jasper's. We were packing it all up, anyway, and moving it to a more secure place when he left.

"Can you ring Carmen for me, please? I need something."

Jasper pointed me to a computer and pressed in a series of keys. A moment later, a striking brunette appeared onscreen.

"Hey kiddo," she greeted.

"Hey, darlin'."

Carmen Gonzalez was my go-to girl. A lawyer by profession, she'd taken care of most of the things I needed. Eleazar, her husband, was a private banker and took care of all my finances. Both have been with me since the start.

"It's about time you rang. We're a little piqued you didn't call us as soon as you got out of that hellhole."

"You know the rules, no girly gossip until Mr. Whiz here secures everything."

"Yeah, yeah," she dismissed. "Jasper already filled us in, and Eleazar's completing the rest of the transactions right now. Everything should be in place in a couple of days. You need anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, yes..."

"Just say the magic word."

"I need a house in Tacoma, near Evergreen College. Not too big, but fully staffed," I told her. "Please."

"When do you want it?"

"Tomorrow."

She looked at me, and damn if I couldn't see the reproachful look in her eyes. We hadn't even started our operations yet. So, the urgent request could only mean one thing: a girl was involved. But if she gave me the same lecture Jasper did about the fucked-up way I handled my previous affair, I was going to blow something up. Thankfully, she kept her recriminations to herself.

"You're going to need security, a driver and household staff on call. I'll contact the Giancana brothers. They have people you've used before. They're very professional and extremely discreet. Anything else?"

"No, that's all, thank you."

A manicured eyebrow went up. "No flowers delivered to her doorstep every day? No standby jet for a quick trip to nowhere? Closed restaurants so you can have dinner in peace? You're becoming a scrooge in your old age, Edward."

I laughed. If I so much as sent a bunch of flowers to Bella's doorstep, she'd shoot me. "This one's different."

That earned me another pointed look. Once upon a time I'd declared Tanya as "different," too.

I said nothing more and Carmen let it go.

"Your L.A. trip is shaping up nicely, by the way. The L.A. Philharmonic already sent a formal letter to the Washington State Department of Corrections requesting your "innovative" and "contemporary" ass for a solo performance," she smirked. "It should go through next week."

Esme had been getting a lot of inquiries and requests of the same nature lately. "Ride," my extremely private piece, had apparently made the rounds and I was starting to become something of a curiosity in artists' circles; a reformed virtuoso coming in from a life of crime. Nothing could be more ridiculous, but I'd jumped on the chance as it couldn't have come at a better time.

"I've arranged for the necessary security and made reservations for the Ritz's Club Lounge on the 23rd floor for the entire night," she added. "Who do you want in?"

"Everyone."

"Everyone?" She leaned back, surprised, but managed not to contradict me.

My inner circle was automatically on any guest list I was in. But I'd never allowed them to socialize in public before, preferring to invite one or two at a time. I wanted them all out now. The L.A. performance would be something of a coming-out party, eight years after my conviction. It would send the FBI's hounds into a spin.

"You do realize that the statutes of your case allow for the reopening or a filing of a new case should there be new evidence to support any claim."

"I'm well aware of that."

I could almost hear her questions and fears. Her _what __if's__,_ but she managed to stop herself from asking them out loud. It was just as well, I'd never been known for explaining myself.

"Can you have my papers say that I should to be accompanied by my parole officer?"

"I could, but that would be a highly unusual condition," Carmen asked, frowning. "Isn't he Chief of Police there? Babysitting an ex-convict would be below his station."

"He is." And it was, but fuck if I cared. A formal affair like a performance necessitated an escort. Chief Swan would have to take someone with him and chances were, he'd take his daughter. "Make it happen, Mina."

"All right," she said, still frowning. "By the way, Jasper already purged your fake marriage from all your records so there's no trace of it anywhere."

"Good." I knew that Bella had been snooping around lately, using her father's clearance no less. In fact, I knew a lot of things about her: where she usually ate her lunch, what time she went to the library, what _toys_ she'd purchased online. I even knew what time she'd arrived in Forks, the exact minute she'd scaled the wall and broke into my little pink hell of a house.

I wasn't too sure what to think of it. She was fast becoming quite a distraction, just as Jasper had predicted. Damn if I could stop myself, though.

A small movement diverted me back to the screen. A little girl was climbing into Carmen's lap, her hands randomly pressing on the keyboard. It was one hell of a funny thing to watch – Carmen shushing, while the imp payed her no attention. I knew that she and Eleazar had started a family, that they had two girls and that they were the world to them. If not for their dogged loyalty, they would've turned me down and their backs to a life of crime once and for all.

Everyone really did grow up while I was away.

"You look good, old girl."

"You too, boss."

"I'll see you and Eleazar in L.A."

I closed the connection and turned to Jasper.

"Want a sandwich?"

"Donut," he replied, handing me his cup for a coffee refill without taking his eyes off the screen of his computer. Apparently, I'd become his personal maid.

I went to the kitchen to get him his fucking donut.

"By the way," he called to me. "I've asked Alice out tomorrow."

"Good."

I didn't want anyone in the house.

**XXX**

It was already daylight when I woke up. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was, and it fucking hurt to move. I was naked, on a couch, in a room that reeked of sex and cigarettes. I must have passed out sometime during the night.

At some point, Edward had awoken me and "one more" became three more. He made me drink something spicy, some sort of tea, to wake me up. It tasted like shit and I couldn't remember how I managed to keep it down. Time blurred, but I remembered the sensations sharpening after that.

Looking around, I found him standing by the window. He was smoking, staring at the rain outside. He looked so pensive; I wondered what he was thinking.

"What time is it?" He snapped to attention at my question, crushed his cigarette out and sauntered to where I was.

"Ten," he said, snagging a small bottle of oil on top of the mini-bar on his way. "Turn over."

I flinched as he touched me and every muscle protested as I did as I was told. He poured oil into his hands and started rubbing it on my shoulders, back, ass, then reached inside my thighs. The oil warmed my skin as his hands gently soothed my sore muscles.

Slowly, I began to relax again, lulled by his touch. I would've probably fallen asleep if my stomach hadn't rumbled reminding me that I hadn't eaten for more than 12 hours.

"Up," he pulled me off the couch slowly. "You need to eat."

"Where are my clothes?"

"Outside."

"I'm not eating naked."

He just laughed.

"Can I at least have my shirt back?"

He went out of the room and came back with one of his. The fabric rasped painfully against my nipples, making me wish I'd listened to him and remained unclothed.

He watched me eat, which was unnerving.

"Don't you have better things to do?"

"No."

"I want a shower."

He laughed again. "Later, when you can walk."

He gave me the same spicy tea I remembered him forcing into me during the night.

"What is it?"

"Sex potion," he answered, matter-of-fact. The tea flew all over him, the couch, and over my shirt as I sputtered.

He laughed harder and told me it was ginger, turmeric, cloves and green tea – an anti-inflammation concoction for sore muscles.

"The triads swear by it."

He fed me, clothed me, watched me as I took a bath. He asked stupid, random questions; like what color I liked, foods I wanted, furniture I liked having around. Books, music, courses, when my birthday was, what it was like growing up without a mother.

I answered all his questions and asked mine – about his mom, playing the piano, growing up in isolation, and how it was in prison. I steered clear of his criminal activities, lest he noticed I knew a lot of things and gave myself away. He answered all my questions with a self-deprecating humor; sometimes wistfully, with a touch of lingering sadness, and sometimes with the mirth of a five-year old.

It was oddly comforting, lying on the couch, trading harmless, innocent stories of our childhoods like there was nothing beyond the four walls of the room. Sometimes, he'd drift off in the middle of a memory and the silence would stretch until he'd find his footing again, or start on a new story. Sometimes, he'd just let me talk and talk and talk.

Sex was out, but apparently kissing wasn't. Neither was groping or squeezing or rubbing his hard-on over his pants or under his boxers. He'd place my hand over his cock, squeeze and pump himself through my fingers until he'd groan, curse and back away before things got out of control.

He'd pace around, smoke or drown a shot or two of whiskey. At times, he'd stand by the window and stare outside, lost in memories he didn't want me to know. Sometimes, he'd play the piano half-naked, fast and furious, alternately filling the room with discord and comical rhythm. He'd tell me it was Petrouchka or some other insanely vigorous dance that no doubt commanded mastery and superior technique. Petrouchka, he said, was a puppet that came to life through a spell and started to feel human emotions. He fell in love with a ballerina and tried to win her over but couldn't.

I listened to him as he practiced, watched the tatts on his back and arms ripple as he pounded on the piano with restrained passion. He'd turn to me to say "I played this when I was seven" or ask me if I knew a particular piece. Sometimes his face would take on an expression of unbreakable concentration, not unlike when he was coming. I sat on the couch, captivated by his private performances.

Things went on like that the entire first day I stayed with him and well into the second.

As the hours went by, I realized, with a sinking feeling, how easy it would be to fall for him. He was intelligent and funny; charming and attentive. A little cocky and frisky, but generally nice.

Maybe if I'd met him before he started stealing cars – at school or somewhere else. Maybe if he was a student, like me, or someone who worked nearby; if he was a miner on that train full of miners or just Edward Cullen, Esme's nephew and Alice's cousin.

It would be too easy.

But he was Edward Fucking Cullen, master criminal; and I was Isabella Marie Swan, the police chief's daughter. No matter how romantic the movies made _bad boy/good girl_ romances, I knew they almost always ended in disasters.

It was unthinkable and a little humiliating, but it was me who broke first.

I knelt between his legs and sucked his cock when he was in the middle of practising Petrouchka's first movement. The veins on his neck stood out as his fingers pressed on the keys with impressive precision as my hands and mouth worked on him. Aside from an occasional muttered, "Oh, Jesus," his hands kept on the rhythm of the music until that last moment when he was falling, coming apart, and all ten fingers crashed onto the keys in a jarring and horrendous sound.

He gasped a ragged, "Oh, God, I love you," as he came into my mouth.

_Yeah, right. _

I've heard that before. I wasn't stupid. People like him, with extensive experience and easy charm, could afford to be careless with their affection. He probably just ran out of things to say.

But he did haul me up to kiss me deeply, before proceeding to demonstrate exceptional control by not ramming himself into me and humping me right then and there.

Instead, he was considerate, gentle and infuriatingly slow. He tortured me with his hands and his mouth, made me feel beautiful with his words. He fucked me deliberately, stretching out the agony until I begged for release.

I came spectacularly, right there, against the piano.

He didn't stop with one, though. We carried on throughout the afternoon and into the night. Less wild and gentler than before, but equally intense; like we were both saving up for the days ahead and it was a challenge for him to make me come over and over. He loved to watch me break into pieces, while he hushed and murmured silly things to keep me going.

He asked me, sometime in the early evening, if I liked watching him, too. I said yes, because I did. I loved it when he'd arch against me, ramming his cock as far as it could go. His face would contort in passion; his mouth open, eyes closed...and he'd say fuck with each thrust.

_Fuck...fuck...fuck...fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

Sometime before dawn of the third day, I woke him up and asked him if he could walk me out. If I didn't get out of the room then, I would've stayed for the entire week.

For a long moment, he didn't speak.

"I'll walk to the bus station," I said.

"No," he answered curtly. For the first time, I detected irritation on his voice. "I'll have someone drive you back."

I didn't dare say no.

He went out of the room as I put on my clothes and gathered my things. I looked around, trying to remember each detail; the piano, the couch, the bar to the right. Some things could never be replicated. He came to the door a bit later and together, we left. We cut across the mansion's lawn in silence, went through the gate which was miraculously unlocked. He led me across the street, towards the nearest curb where a dark, heavily-tinted car waited. A man, monstrous in size and appearance, came out from the driver's seat as we neared it.

"Derrick." Edward called out to him coolly.

"Sir." The man nodded back. It was obvious they were previously acquainted.

He opened the car's back door and kissed me. His mouth lingered on mine as I clung to him, uncaring if Derrick the driver was watching. He broke away, shoved me gently into the car and kissed me one more time.

"Go, before I stop you."

The door closed and the car pulled away. I turned to watch him stand alone at the curb, feeling unexpectedly guilty for leaving.

The car turned a corner and he disappeared from my view.

**XXX**

**whew.**

**Okay, ladies, spread the love and review. **

**Thanks.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Happy 10.10.10!**

**Thanks to my betas, eviekinz and M. Love you, guys.**

**Thanks to the ladies on twitter for keeping things interesting and Alotalittle for the cool review at the Lustorium. Thanks, too, to Maristella and Verucasin.  
**

**To everyone who rec'ced, twitted and reviewed, wow...just, wow. I am blown away.  
**

**XXX**

Jasper was the only person I could stand having around when I was in a foul mood. He was impervious of everything I did in general and placidly accepted my flaws and crimes. But there were times when he could be such an annoying little shit.

An hour after Bella left me standing on the curb like an idiot, he came into the kitchen where I was eating. He took one look at me scowling and dishevelled, and chuckled.

If he said anything about me looking like hell, I was going to strangle him.

He didn't.

His first words were: "I bet you a hundred thousand dollars I can sneak you inside the Pentagon."

"Why the fuck would I want to sneak into the Pentagon?"

"Two hundred," he offered, ignoring my grouchiness.

"Bet you three, you can't."

"You're on."

Most of our pranks started as careless, expensive bets before they spiralled into full-blown offenses.

When Jasper was 10, I bet him a hundred dollars he couldn't hack into his dad's computer and steal his credit card numbers.

When I was 12, he bet me a thousand that I couldn't steal Mme. Delarue's purse, a distant aunt of his who'd constantly pestered me for a piano performance.

When he was 12, I bet him he couldn't get into the CNN's private CCTV mainframe and get us live footage of a pretty co-ed I happened to like, and who was working there as an intern.

When I was almost 15, he bet me five-hundred thousand I couldn't steal a Jaguar so I could race his Maseratti on Germany's back roads.

For the right price or for no real reason at all, the answer had always been the same: "You're on."

Until the latest wager.

I'd made the bet that night he drove me to Tacoma, the first time we saw each other after eight long years.

"I bet you my own ass I can steal all the latest Bugatti Veyrons within two weeks and ship them all to Dubai under the FBI and Interpol's fucking noses."

The Veyron 16.4 sports cars were a special edition, priced at $2.5 million each. They reached speeds up to 268 mph, and were the fastest cars on the planet. So far, there were only 20 of them on the market, spread over nine states and three continents.

Jasper refused at first. The cars were too rare, he reasoned, and their theft would attract too much attention. I'd be on the FBI's list of suspects automatically. So would he and everyone I was going to talk to, call, or even just share the air in the following weeks. It would expose half our network and those closest to us to suspicion.

Moreover, it would take an army of burglars, operatives and highly skilled drivers to carry out on-the-ground surveillance, large-scale diversions and actual thefts.

There was no "hot-wiring" a Bugatti. Duplicate keys would've to be acquired from unsuspecting dealers or the originals would've have to be stolen through break-ins. Once the drivers have the keys, the exposed cars could be driven away quietly. Those under lock and key would've to be burglared, their latest tracking systems disabled and round-the-clock security disarmed. With the paranoia the thefts were sure to generate, getting to the last Veyron would make sneaking into the Pentagon seem like a walk in the park.

Once the cars were in costudy, they'd have to be flown to Maastricht and Antwerp, where the Volturi waited with master forgers to give the cars their "new identities." From there, they'd be shipped to Dubai and sneaked into any point in the Middle East.

It was like playing the piano to a live orchestra. Everything had to be done with infallible precision.

"Remember Tim Ellis? Ferrari Testarossa, 2009," Jasper spoke, pulling me out from my thoughts.

"The Ellis who got caught speeding in Switzerland?"

He nodded. "He was fined a million dollars."

"Fucking idiot."

"And Boyd Mayfied ran his Volvo into the lake –"

"Jasper," I interrupted him. "It's too early to talk about idiots. Let's talk about something else."

I was sleep-deprived, over-stimulated, and strangely angry.

"Like what?"

"Like how did it go yesterday?"

He looked at me blankly. "Yesterday?"

"When you went out with Alice."

"Oh, right." He smiled. "We went bird watching."

I groaned. Birds were one of Jasper's latent all-time obsessions and nothing was more boring than a walking Wikipedia of birds.

"Did you know that they have the black-footed Albatross and pink-footed shearwaters here? We saw a family of shearwaters, but they flew by so quickly. We had to wait an hour for more family to show up."

_Another hour. Christ-fucking-almighty._ He probably talked Alice's ear off about migratory patterns and strange mating habits of Northeastern birds the entire time.

"We dropped by her school later and sat on the library steps," he continued.

"Really?"

"It was fun." He smiled. "There was a game and we watched people."

"They're not people, they're fucking teenagers."

"Like the policeman's daughter."

_Fuck, he just had to get that in. _

Fortunately, he didn't say anything more. We ate in silence, me gnawing on my second sandwich while he pushed around fruity loops in his bowl. He had to settle for the last box of cereal as I'd eaten my way through the pantry for the past two days. He gave up after a while, dumping everything into the sink and was about to go back to his room when someone knocked on the door.

"Jasper, someone's at the door."

"Yes." He made no move towards it.

"Jasper, get the door."

He shuffled to the door, opened it and stared. Damn, I should have said "get the door and let who-ever-the-fuck it is in."

"Hey." It was Alice.

"Hey," Alice greeted him back and shouted a greeting to me in the kitchen.

I said "hey" and tried to be as quiet and unobtrusive as I could.

"Thanks for yesterday," Alice spoke first. "I didn't know you knew so much about birds."

Jasper didn't invite her in so they talked with him inside and Alice outside.

"Yeah," he answered, shuffling his feet. "I liked it when we watched people, too."

"Listen, I'm having some friends over later if you wanna come over..."

"Oh..."

"They're people, you know, you might want to...watch them?"

Jasper didn't answer right away. Parties tended to upset him: the noise, the questions, and the inability of the guests to withstand his longwinded, one-sided conversations.

"But if not, you know, that's fine."

"No, I want to go but I-I-I d-d-on't think I can."

"It's okay, if you're busy -"

"No, I'm not busy."

"It's no big deal, really. It's just a little party for some friends. Edward's not going either, so..."

"When?"

"Around six?"

He exhaled a breath. "Okay."

"Look, it's no pressure. I'll just come around and knock and if you can, you can."

He nodded again and breathed out another painful "okay."

...

At quarter to five, he was ready. Shirt tucked in, hair combed neatly, shiny shoes with matching socks. He sat on the couch unmoving for a full hour, watching the hands of the clock turn.

At quarter to six, Alice knocked. He didn't answer. Alice called out, knocked again and when there was no answer, turned away and went back to the mansion.

I came out of the piano room when she left and found Jasper slumped against the door. He was holding his head with both his hands, visibly upset.A

"Don't laugh," he said, turning to me angrily. "Don't you dare laugh at me."

I didn't, already knowing what it was like to have a bad day. Some things just couldn't be rushed, no matter how much you wanted to.

The next morning, he woke up early, marched to the mansion and waited 30 minutes in the cold until Alice showed up on her way to school. He said something, probably an apology for the night before, then turned his back to her abruptly and started walking back to the cottage. Alice followed him at a slower pace.

"I want to show you something."

They went into the kitchen where Jasper had spread out his gizmos. He'd fussed over them for hours since dawn.

"Say hi."

"Um, hi?"

"Good morning, Alice." The SPLICE-generated voice greeted her.

"Oh, it's your SPLICE."

"Do you know about automatic segmentation of speech?"

"It's what you do, right? It's what happens to the recorded voices when...uh, you put them through the machine and the machine recognizes it and it answers you back?"

"It's hard with current generation speech dictation. Most recognition devices avoid it directly, so I used the g2p system. You know, the g2p system is based on the Induction Decision Tree mechanism and is trained on the first Fonilex pronunciation database. Each phoneme is predicted based on a vector of 10 variables: the grapheme under consideration, a context of four left and four right graphemes and the last decoded phoneme or what is commonly known as feedback..."

"Yes," she nodded politely, interjecting an "uh huh" here and there into Jasper's long monologue. "I kinda get that."

"You can dictate your papers and notes or record your teachers, the SPLICE can turn it to text. I put auditory character recognition to your specific acoustic cues or use it vice versa."

"My what?"

"Your specific acoustic...I mean your voice," he stopped, deflated after a long, hurried speech. "I-I made it for you."

"Oh, that's sweet," she said and smiled. "Thank you, I'm sure I'll love it."

"You're welcome," he gave out a pleased laugh. "Did I talk too much?"

"A little, yeah," Alice laughed. "But it's all right."

"I talk too much when I get excited. It's what I do."

"No, no," Alice said, laying a hand on his arm. "It's all right, really."

"Can I drive you to school?"

"Huh?"

Suddenly, I sympathised with the girl. I knew Jasper well, but even I have a hard time following him sometimes.

"I don't know," Alice hesitated. "Someone will have to pick me up later and I do have a car. Maybe next time?"

"I'll pick you up," Jasper offered. "We can go watch the birds again."

"Oh!" She caught on finally, that in a roundabout way, he was asking her out. "Are we going to take your car?"

"Yes." Jasper was overjoyed, but I was probably the only person who knew that. "Yes, we are."

...

He came back later in a really, really good mood.

"She wants to go to Princeton to be a writer."

"It's what brats do," I told him, "Go to college and become writers that no one reads."

"I've never been to college," he said with a wistful tone.

Neither had I for obvious reasons, or in any kind of institution with teachers and other kids. A long line of private tutors filled in for my education. In that sense, Jasper and I were the same. We were both social outcasts floating in wealth since birth. My father made a last ditch effort when I was spiralling out of control and hired a fresh graduate as a new tutor after my mother died. Her name was Tanya, who turned out to be an undercover agent, and she taught me more than what he'd paid her for.

"You like her."

He gave a sigh. "She's your cousin, Eddie."

"So?" I shrugged. "You're Jasper. If you look at it from my point of view, it would be fucking incestuous, so don't."

I was so full of shit. The truth was, I wanted him out of my hair. Something could go wrong and I had to prepare for the possibility that I might need to disappear and leave him on his own again. Remus had served him well, but a deaf-mute who was in his twilight years wouldn't last. He needed someone young; someone who'd hopefully outlive him.

Someone like Alice.

She'd be perfect. Born and bred in a stable, boring environment. Great dad, cool mom- a happy, average childhood. Fucking normal, something we've both never been. She'd outgrow the giddy, annoying stage soon enough.

Jasper would be every bit worth her while, _if _he managed to pull his act together.

They went out every day after that to watch the birds. They'd come back to the cottage, and sit around for a while. Alice would let Jasper ramble until it was time to eat and they'd both go to the mansion for dinner. Sometimes, I went with them or hung out when they were around. Most times I avoided them.

Thank fucking God I did, because I didn't want to be in the room for this conversation.

"Were you excited?" Jasper asked Alice after another bird watching "date."

"What?"

"Sexually," he stammered, "When we were watching the birds."

I had to rein it in lest they notice the partially open door but I could've died laughing.

"Uhm..." Alice was probably wondering if it was a joke or not. "I don't – no, not really?"

"Because I was when I held your hand, and I wondered if you were, too."

For a long while, no one spoke and nothing moved.

"So," Alice said and I could hear her stand, "Thank you for driving me back. I think I'm going to go now."

I could see her go to the front door and open it.

"Did I upset you? When I said that I was sexually excited?"

"No, no – I mean, yes," Alice gave a short, embarrassed laugh. "I don't know?"

"It's funny?"

"No, no, I just didn't expect it."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what people are thinking unless they tell me," he said. When Alice didn't say anything..."Like now?"

"Oh, sorry. Okay, let's try this again," she said, taking a deep breath. "I don't think it's funny. It's kinda...cute."

Unfortunately for Alice, Jasper was on a roll. "I have Aspergers, it's something on the autism spectrum. I'm different from other people. I say things that other people think are inappropriate, but its how I feel."

"I know, Edward told us."

"The only person I can really understand is Edward because his mind works similar to mine," he explained. "I can work out what he's thinking even if he says one thing and then does another. He's not really honest that way. Like he tells me what not to say and what to do, so I don't get into trouble. "

Alice laughed again. "I assume he isn't, having been in jail and all, but he is my only cousin so no Edward bashing?"

"Right," Jasper conceded. "No Edward bashing."

As much as he could help it, anyway.

"Will you consider having sex with me?"

To her credit, Alice didn't laugh. "Can I think about it?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'll think about it tomorrow."

"Thank you."

Even through the walls, I could feel Jasper beam.

…...

Alice caught on fast. She paid attention to how I broke Jasper's monologues without offending him, how to listen and steer one conversation into the next. Before long, they were talking fine on their own and having actual two-way conversations.

Once, I caught them kissing. Apparently, she'd given him a book on Northeastern birds and the dork was so tongue-tied he couldn't get the words out properly and acted on instinct. I studiously stayed away from the kitchen when they were around after that.

Then I made the mistake of asking Jasper how things were going. I shouldn't have because then he'd have to ask me how things were going with me.

And things were _not _going well.

I'd reined in every instinct to go after Bella when she left. I didn't call, tease or make unexpected trips to Tacoma to see her. We were in the middle of planning one of the most complicated heists we'd ever thought of, and I figured that if I didn't speak her name out loud I'd forget she existed. That if I lost myself in blueprints and layouts and Jasper's techno world, I wouldn't remember how she smelled, how she felt, or how she giggled when she told "Charlie stories."

I was fucking kidding myself.

"I don't know what you're planning," Jasper said. "But whatever it is can't good. What happened with Tanya will happen again."

"No, it won't. Tanya was a bitch."

"Stop saying that word." It upset him when I referred to women crudely. "She was just doing her job."

"So you're on her side now, is that it?"

"She's an FBI agent. It was her job to catch you so stop blaming her. You went to jail because you fell for her too fast and you were careless."

"Oh yeah? And how many times did I have to save my own ass because of _your _fuck-ups?"

"I may have gotten you into trouble before, but I never got you into jail," he shot back. "What I'm saying is that it's dangerous, hanging around someone who's so different from us, who'll never understand – ."

"Different from us? Because she doesn't have pedigree like some fucking poodle? Because she's just a lowly policeman's daughter? You're a fucking snob, Jasper."

He shook his head. "You're going to hurt her, Eddie."

And that was the crux of the matter. For some reason, Jasper felt protective of the girls who'd taken me on, including the worst ones. Girls whose names and faces I couldn't even remember: Ernesta, Irina, Kate, and even Tanya.

"How would you know? What do you know about women, anyway? You can't even talk to Alice properly."

It was a low blow and I was an asshole. I apologized the day after.

The day came when it was time for him to go. I wanted him near the Volturi so we could monitor the deals they'd been getting for the cars. He also needed to set up a secure monitoring base as far away from me as he could. We packed up his things and made sure nothing was left in the cottage. It would be the first place the FBI would search once our operations started.

Save for the few missing pieces, everything was almost ready.

Alice drove him to the airport. Carlisle had refused to allow her at first, but relented after Esme and Alice ganged up on him, saying she'd be fine driving on her own so far away from home. Jasper and Alice hadn't kept their budding relationship a secret and it was a credit to Carlisle and Esme's graciousness that they accepted Jasper so easily. Just the same, I had Derrick tail them.

The day after Jasper left, Alice came to see me.

"I know what you're doing," she announced as soon as she came in.

"One moment," I told her and motioned for her to go, wait for me in the kitchen as I went to put the neutralizer in effect.

"So," I said, joining her at the table, "_what _am I doing?"

**XXX**

**:)**

**Hope you enjoyed Jasper and Alice! ****After the last chapter, I thought a breather from Edward and Bella would be nice. :)**

**Will Edward tell Alice? Did Jasper? **

**Jasper is, and will contine to be, inspired by "Adam" (Hugh Dancy).**

**Ladies, drop me a note or leave a review or say hi on twitter. I'd truly appreciate it.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks to all who rec'ed Ride on blogs, sites, boards, facebook pages and other places I know nothing about. Thanks to the PervPackSmutShack girls and waywardpushers for the awesome reviews. **

**To all those who said I "got Jasper right," a huge thank you! **

**Thanks to two great ladies, eviekinz and M for whipping this chapter into shape.**

**This one's for you ****impatientpervs/****ladies. :P **

The silver coupe had been parked in front of the library for the last hour and people were starting to notice it, drawn by the Alfa Romeo badge on its nose. They were naturally curious as it wasn't everyday that a rare Italian sports car made an appearance in boring, old Evergreen.

The coupe's front lights flashed, expressing the driver's impatience. I'd been staring at it from my seat on the second floor of the library the entire time, childishly prolonging the driver's wait. If he'd expected me to jump at his command when he finally decided to make an appearance, he had another thing coming. He'd managed to ignore me for more than a week. Waiting an hour or so while I doodled wouldn't kill him.

It's not that I expected much from him. God help him if he started calling me again, left me messages or other saccharine crap. If he'd come a few days earlier, I would've turned my back and walked away without giving him a glance. I needed some time to think and frankly, my body needed a break. It had taken days before I could move without discomfort.

He'd been shrewd and stayed away; maybe even a little too long. He would probably know when I'd stop feeling so raw.

He said nothing when I decided to join him, sliding into the car half an hour later. He just revved the engine and pulled away from the lot, tires screeching. It was only when we hit the open road that I realized he was going too fast, taking me away from Evergreen.

"Where are we going?" I demanded. "I have classes tomorrow."

It was Wednesday and I couldn't afford to miss the rest of the week.

"You'll see."

Less than 20 minutes later, he turned the car into the driveway of a sprawling brownstone. He was out of his seat in a shot, pulling me out of the car within a few seconds. Gripping my hand, he pulled me into the house, through a long hallway and into a semi-circular living room with glass walls. Towards the right was a modern kitchen with a table set for two. A coffee machine was percolating on the counter, as if someone had just been there and magically disappeared as soon as we arrived. The house looked cozy and warm, either from being lived in or it had been painstakingly made to look that way.

But it wasn't the domestic ambiance that held my attention. It was the view of the Bay beyond the glass walls. Open French doors led to a deck where one could view the ocean stretched out as far as I could see – a wide expanse of blue – dotted by an occasional yacht that strayed from a nearby bay.

"Whose house is this?"

"Mine," he answered, pulling me towards a series of doors to the left of the kitchen.

"What do you mean yours?"

He kicked a door open and pushed me into a bedroom with glass walls with the same view of the bay. "It means I bought it."

"No, no, dammit," I squirmed away from his grasp. "I meant how? Why?"

"You said you like blue."

"What?" What did I have to do with it? And who the hell buys a house based upon color?

"Can we talk about it later?" he asked as he dropped onto the bed, pulling me on top of him. "Right now, I just really, really need to fuck you."

He didn't bother undressing me completely; he just pushed my clothes out of the way, removing anything that was inconvenient and not bothering with the rest. He sucked, bit and licked, concentrating on getting me wet and ready. He hushed me when I asked questions, swallowing my words with his mouth. He told me I felt so good, that he missed me, missed fucking me and that he shouldn't have stayed away so long. He groped and fondled all the right places, squeezing with the right pressure with his hands alternately forceful and gentle. God, he was good. In no time, he had me squirming against him, my questions temporarily forgotten.

Soon I was flat on my back with my calves resting on his shoulders, he thrust his cock into me in one stroke, filling me to the hilt. The invasion took my breath away but every nerve in my body welcomed him. Pulses of pleasure spread from my pussy and down to the tips of my toes and fingers. He felt so good – too good.

I must have blanked out for a moment as the next thing I knew he was smoothing my hair out of my face, crooning, "Did that feel good, baby?"

He moved my legs down onto his arms so he could bend forward and kiss and suck on my lips. Snagging a pillow, he slid it under my pelvis, positioning me so he could hit me from another angle. I wrapped my arms around his back and held on for the ride as he started fucking me into the mattress. After he'd made sure I had my fix, his movements became careless and selfish.

"Oh, God..."

"Shhhh...shhhh..." He could sense that I was close to another climax as he thrusted faster. "Almost there, baby, almost there."

Pleasure crashed over me with each impact and I could hear myself urge him on. He twisted suddenly and a look of near-agony appeared on his face as his own climax struck. He shuddered for a long time, not breathing, before collapsing beside me.

/xxx\\

"So, why did you?" I asked him, minutes later, when I remembered how to breathe

"Why did I what?" He was sprawled beside me, breathing as heavily.

"Stay away."

He turned to face me. "Isn't that what you wanted?" When I didn't answer, he added quietly, "I thought so."

And there it was; the slight tightening of the jaw, the imperceptible thinning of the lips. He was angry, pissed off that I hadn't wanted him around. He'd been angry when I left, when I suggested I walk to the bus station as if he'd let me out just like that. He'd told me we were doing it "his way," and there'd be "no more" of this and that. I'd thought nothing of it then, just incoherent phrases and threats in the throes of passion. I couldn't help but think that he wanted something more than an occasional fuck, something less fleeting.

I was right and the house confirmed my suspicions. I had no doubt that if I looked around, I would see things that I told him I liked. He'd thought of it then, back when he was asking me all those inane questions. It was near enough to Evergreen that he could come in anytime without breaking my routine but far enough from Forks to escape interference from his family.

He wanted me to take him on as a lover; and I wasn't sure I was ready for that. I didn't even know what I was doing with him.

"What did you tell Dr. Cullen?"

"Nothing," he said, rolling me to my side so my back was to his chest. "_Dr. Cullen_ thinks I'm in Seattle, doing what every convict dreams of doing every night."

"And what would that be?"

"Eating pussy," he laughed lowly, bringing his mouth to my neck. He started nibbling his way down my back, while his wandering hands cupped my crotch and a lazy finger began rubbing my clit. "But why would I go there when I have one...delicious...pussy... right here."

Edward had a one-track mind coupled with nimble fingers and a wicked mouth. I didn't stand a chance.

By midnight, he'd fallen asleep. I stayed awake, despite my exhaustion, unable to switch off my mind. I couldn't shake the peculiarity of my surroundings, made even more unfamiliar by its purpose.

Moonlight streamed through the windows, bouncing shadows around the room and over the bed, creating an eerie play on the tattoos on the man who was sprawled beside me. From the start, his marks have always fascinated me. Up close, they were absolutely captivating. Cathedral walls, windows and doors covered every inch of his upper body, front and back. The image was littered with battling angels and demons, extending down his left arm, meeting the ink on his wrist. The details were obviously from a complete design and not random images thrown together. There was a sense of balance in it, neatness I wouldn't have attributed to images so violent. His right arm was remarkably bare, except for three galloping stallions racing around his bicep.

It was the Ferrari badge, slightly modified. I skimmed my fingers over it but pulled back when he squirmed, suddenly awake. He caught my hand, and placed it, palm down, on his chest.

"Go on."

Emboldened, I straddled him and let my hands do the investigating. On closer inspection, there were hidden details on cathedral windows and doors that seemed incongruous – like the entwined letters E and A on his right chest.

"Who's A?"

"Not whoever you think it is," he smiled wryly.

"What's this?" I asked as I slid a hand over a stylized eye peeking from the back of his right shoulder.

"Eye of Huros," he answered. "It's supposed to give protection from being stabbed in the back."

"And this?" I questioned as my hands slid across his chest, then across his nipple to the detailed rose on the left pectoral.

He hummed and told me to do it again before he would answer. "Russian mafia crest, kept me from being killed in my sleep."

To the left of his stomach, between two angels, sat a black cat. I remembered seeing another one so I turned him over. Another cat, same color but smaller, sat on an angel's robes on his back.

"Pussy cats," he joked before adding, "are prison code for thief."

My hands stilled. Two cats. Two thieves..._interesting._

"Why'd you do it? Why'd you steal those cars?" It was out before I could stop myself. I'd vowed I'd never bring up his criminal past with him. It scared me that if I did, he'd somehow make me understand.

"Because I could."

It wasn't really an answer but it got me thinking. It was all a harmless game to him, one he did out of boredom; like getting a full upper body tattoo or maybe even getting a lover.

"Stop over thinking it, sweetheart," he murmured, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I got off him and he automatically shifted so I lay facing him, his arms around me.

That was another thing. I was "sweetheart" from the first time he met me, except when he was fucking me.

"Do you call all your girls sweetheart?"

He grinned. "Only those I met on trains."

"Why?" I asked. I never really understood some couples' fondness for pet names, but oddly, his didn't grate on my nerves. The only other person whose endearments sounded natural was Charlie.

He was silent, seemingly thinking the reasons over for himself for a long while.

"Seems appropriate," he answered. Then he grinned again, like he'd just thought of something, and grabbed my hands. "I should get it inked in somewhere. Maybe here..," he brought my hand to his inner thigh. "Or here," he smiled wickedly as he cupped his balls with my hands. "It would hurt like fuck but it'd be worth it."

He really was incorrigible.

He wrapped my hand around his cock and started pumping, murmuring that if he did get the tatt, I could kiss it better, wrap my lips around it and ohhh...that feels good, baby. He grew bolder, asking me to suck his cock, 'cause it hurt...like now...please?

When he begged, he was irresistible.

The next morning, he dropped me off in front of my building and told me to wear a dress on Friday.

I didn't.

When Friday came, I finished up early and waited for him in my dormitory, wearing the same small skirt over torn leggings I'd worn when we'd first met.

At dusk, he came around with a new car. It was a low slung orange coupe with a CCX badge. A Koenigsegg. I'd done my homework and started to familiarize myself with the small, fast cars that he seemed to have a taste for. I also checked if his driving privileges had been restored, just to be sure. They had. As soon as I got in the passenger seat, I saw why he'd made the switch. The CCX was larger, more spacious than the Alfa Romeo. From my research, I'd also gathered that it was faster.

Only a few miles from Evergreen, he turned the car into a secluded part of the road and fucked me. He didn't waste his breath on sweet nothings. Not that I needed to hear them. I had no illusions that he'd only wanted to see my legs when he asked that I wear a dress. The leggings were easy to tear, the short skirt easily pushed up but movement still wasn't easy. The CCX might be a bit wider but the interior still made for an awkward tangle of arms, knees and elbows as he scrambled to get me in position.

He didn't care about the discomfort of the cramped quarters. What he cared about was getting his cock into me as quickly as possible. He flipped me on my hands and knees so I straddled the seat and rammed himself into me as soon as I was ready.

There were no caresses, no whispered endearments. He was silent except for his grunts as he fucked me from behind. He had an arm around my waist, another around my shoulders to keep me in place as he drove his cock into me hard, over and over. He pushed the passenger door open to anchor one of his feet on the ground, rocking the car from the side. His cock pulsed as he neared his release and I knew he'd have one of his spectacular orgasms.

"Scream," he gritted out and I did, just like I screamed later, when he turned the car and spun it around in nausea-inducing and chaotic circles. He whooped and laughed over the roar of the engine, high on testosterone and adrenaline, as we skidded and bumped on sharp curves and bends, overtaking dozens of cars in less than a minute. I cursed and swore that I was never, ever getting into a car with him again, while he thoroughly enjoyed my terror.

I drove us home–technically. I kept my hands on the steering wheel while his feet pressed on the pedals. I leaned on him as he kept his hands under my torn clothes, his cock buried deep inside me.

We barely made it to the front door.

The next morning, he called Derrick to pick us up and drive us to Forks. He dropped me three blocks away from Charlie's house with a quick kiss and the same slight, imperceptible fit of anger.

He picked me up at the same spot on Sunday afternoon.

Our schedule for meeting each other went on like that for the next week and the one after that. Wednesdays, Fridays, Sundays. As soon as I came out of class or half-finished an assignment, he'd be there. He seemed to know exactly where I was every minute, and what I'd been doing the minute before. The moment I stepped into his car, everything would shift and I'd become the girl whose main preoccupation was to fuck him and be fucked by him...in any place, on any surface, at any time.

I became acquainted with the many facets of Edward Cullen. He was always ravenous after rounds of sex. He snored after a mind-blowing blowjob. He liked to have his back rubbed and liked all things slippery. He also had no compunction, whatsoever, about fucking a sleeping girl. He could speak flawless Italian and possibly a host of other languages.

I found out the last one accidentally, when I wandered out of the bedroom one morning, naked. At first, I didn't see that there was a woman cooking in the kitchen and another throwing the doors open, airing out the entire house. I'd walked out, oblivious, until I was in the middle of the living room and the two women were gaping at me; partly in amusement, partly in shock. It must have been absolutely hilarious how I ran/stumbled back to the bedroom. I woke Edward up and told him there were strangers in the house. He only laughed and told me it's "just Renata and Chelsea" and that they did "things for him." He'd put on his clothes then and talked to them at the door. I listened to them talk in rapid Italian, understanding a word here and there, as the older woman apologized for spooking the "signorina" and Edward laughed and told them it was all right.

In my embarrassment, I didn't leave the room until they were both gone.

Aside from that single indiscretion, my life as the good daughter and Edward's lover remained firmly separated. There was an invisible line, one I could step over the moment I got out of his car and walked away from the world he created for both of us. When I wasn't with him, I studied and hung out with my friends, doing what was expected of a college sophomore. On weekends, I went home to Charlie.

I thought it was a pretty good set-up. I was, as they say, having my cake and eating it, too. But I foolishly forgot who I was dealing with. I also forgot that I wasn't the only Swan involved in Edward's life.

On the third weekend that he dropped me off, I came home, pleasantly surprised to catch Charlie in the house. He was in an amazingly good mood, and I wondered, suspiciously, if there was something going on with him that I didn't know about. Perhaps he was seeing somebody secretly, just as I was but it turned out later that wasn't the case.

"Remember when we used to talk about going somewhere where the sun actually shines?" he asked me after I remarked that Forks must be remarkably quiet since he could afford a free Saturday.

"Yeah," I chuckled, remembering. It had always been our dream to go somewhere not cold all the time. "But I think I might be too old for Disneyland now."

"Well, we might still get to go some place warm," he said. "The Washington State Police just gave me a pass for L.A."

"Really? When?"

"We leave Sunday night and stay there up to Tuesday afternoon."

"We?"

"Two tickets." He grinned, waving two envelopes in the air. "What do you think? We haven't done anything together, not since you moved so far away."

"C'mon, Dad," I said, "Tacoma's less than a two-hour drive from here."

"Yeah," he answered, a little wistful. "But it's still not the same as when you were always around and...you know..."

I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that we were starting to drift away; that I was really growing up and that someday soon, I'd meet someone, get married or move to the other side of the country for good to do whatever. Then he'd be nothing but an old man, patiently waiting for brief visits from his only daughter.

"So what do you think?"

The guilt weighed heavily on me. My father was asking me to go with him on one of the rare times of his life that he actually got out of Forks and all I could think was "but it's a Sunday!" Sunday was an Edward day.

"Sure, why not?" I said and smiled at him. Edward could go fuck himself for a night. "Three days? We can go to Universal Studios."

"We could."

"Why'd they give you a few days off suddenly? That some sort of a pre-retirement bonus?"

"I'm not that old, honey," he said, laughing. "It's for something else. The Cullen boy is performing in L.A. and they want me to go with him so I can turn him over to the L.A. Department. It's kind of silly, actually, since he only has a few days left to finish on his parole, but what the heck. Do you want me to talk to your professors to give you a leave of absence for a couple of days?"

Charlie didn't notice it but his words washed over me like cold water. Edward was going to L.A. on Sunday. Not only that, he was going to be escorted by my father.

We'd been together plenty of times, had covered plenty of ground not related to sex, but not once had he mentioned this to me. Not a single word, not even when he'd pushed me out of the car earlier, telling me to "be a good girl and run home to daddy." Then I remembered something. He didn't say he'd pick me up on Sunday. I'd just assumed, like I'd assumed all those days that he'd come around because he'd be unable to stay away. My heart sank. Was this his way of putting me in my place? Or was he taunting me with the things I couldn't have and couldn't be as long as we kept our affair secret?

Either way, I shouldn't go . If Edward had wanted me there, he would've told me. But if he'd told me, I probably wouldn't go.

"No," I answered Charlie belatedly. "I mean, I'll take care of school."

It was already too late . I'd already said yes to Charlie.

**O_O**

**I am out and will remain out for the next week or two so the next chapter won't be out till then. If you can't wait till then, review! If that's not enough, reread Ride and leave me more reviews. LOL. Or not. Spread the love.**

**If you rec'ed Ride anywhere, l****et me know where so I can ****hump****/thank you properly. To any of those who're interested on E/B's car-aerobics, check out my profile. Check out position #6.  
**

**Next stop: L.A., baby! And yes, we'll know what Alice knows then. Till then! **


	13. Chapter 13

**Eh, sorry for the long wait. Been busy and all. :)**

**Thank you, M, for getting this back to me so fast. You are ammuuZing. And thanks to you, equally amazing ladies out there, who left reviews and rec'ed Ride left, right, front, back and center. Coming back from whereverthehellIwentto and reading them all was surprisingly, er, pleasant...and hot...and made me want to dryhump you all.**

**There's a link for a twilighted thread and another of me spouting nonsense in an interview with Mean Mrs. Mustard at my profile page.**

**Enjoy!**

**LA, Part 1**

It was, without doubt, her. From the mezzanine, I could make out her familiar figure – the curve of her neck down to the swell of her breasts, to the flare of her hips. I was too far away to catch her scent but I didn't need to be near her to summon the mouth watering smell of lilacs and lipstick and something that was distinctly her.

It was just as well. I doubted if I could have controlled myself if I'd gone any closer, as I'd never seen her in anything so insanely sexy before. Her minis and torn leggings had been undeniably hot but this...this was something else. The dress she wore clung to her young, supple figure, her breasts rising provocatively above the low rise of the sleeveless slip of a garment. Dark blue satin clung to her in a perfect symmetry of motion, flowing around her body like the froth of waves on the ocean . The color emphasized the paleness of her skin, and the delicate shadows of her collarbones. The hair that was piled atop her head, only to cascade down from the pearl clips that secured the mass of loose curls in place, touched her skin in an intimate brush of softness, closer than any man would dare. The delicate curve of her ankles, wrapped in the flimsy straps of the dark blue sandals with the four inch spike heels . . .

All I could see for a moment were those heels digging painfully into my back, her legs wrapped around my hips, her head thrown back, her cries loud as she moaned with each thrust...yes...yes...yes...

My cock twitched as images of her coming filtered through my brain. If not for a dozen cops milling in the lobby, I would've hauled her to the nearest dark corner and fucked her. Damn Carmen. If only she hadn't invited an entire L.A.P.D. squadron, so that Charlie Swan wouldn't feel too ill at ease in a shindig with L.A.'s snottiest, I would have had my way with his one and only daughter.

Said daughter looked around, as if sensing that she was being watched. A light blush rose on her cheeks and her lips...those gorgeous lips that sucked my cock whenever I managed to sweet talk her into it. Her tongue darted out and I groaned quietly. Fuck, having her near and not being able to touch her was absolute torture. But if I went any closer, there'd be more to pay than just torn dresses and wet pants. I'd be breaking open our dirty, little secret.

She stood in a corner all by herself, holding a glass of wine, looking strangely lost and vulnerable. I knew she wanted to run. She was still unsure if she should be here at all. For a brief second, the need to reassure her nearly overwhelmed me. I wanted to touch her lips with mine and tell her how much I wanted her with me. Fuck the consequences. She'd let me, anyway. She'd make it difficult, sure. She'd stiffen and try to pull away but I could hold her elbows and pull her to me and she'd forget, like I'd already forgotten, that there were people around us.

She could deny it, but the fact was I could make her do anything. There were times when she'd grow almost as horny as I was and would get off with a touch, a kiss, the right press of my body on hers. She'd been growing bolder, more confident of her body, willing to exercise her control over me. Before I'd dropped her off that Saturday, she'd been impatient, horny beyond belief, and had even made the first move. Fuck if she didn't blow me away.

**XXX**

"_Fuck me."_

_I stared into the brilliant eyes that glowed at me through a half-closed haze of lust, wondering if I heard her correctly. Lying flat on my back, unable to draw anything more than shallow breaths, I could smell her as she positioned herself above me, braced with one hand on her knees, her other hand slipping down her body, between her legs, a harsh moan tumbling from her lips as her fingers slid into her pussy. I shuddered at the squelching sound as she pumped her fingers in and out a few times before bringing her hand back up, her fingers glistening in the moonlight filtering through the windows. Staring at her hand for a few seconds in complete fascination, she laughed unsteadily, her tongue darting out to lick the moisture from her fingers._

_I nearly came on the spot. I grabbed her hand and dragged it to my lips, sucking her fingers into my mouth greedily._

_She laughed again, rising up on her knees, reaching down with her free hand to grasp my cock in her hand, only to lower herself on to me. The sensation of my cock's head slipping between folds of slick, hot skin was too much, too wicked, too overwhelming. A throaty sound, almost like a purr but not quite, escaped her as she rose up then down, again and again, each time only taking the head into her before pulling away._

"_Tell me . . .," I urged her as she played with me, "tell me what you want?"_

"_I want you," she said, her body shaking, quivering, "all the way...inside me..."_

_A groan escaped me when she squeezed me tight, my body jerking in violent reaction. She laughed softly, pleased at her undisputed control over me, and began to lower herself onto me once more._

_Letting go of her hand, I grabbed her hips, jerked her down as hard as I could. Her scream echoed in the thickening air, her body convulsing above me as her orgasm took her. Breasts heaving, body quaking, pussy tightening around me, it was too much for me. The first swells of cum shot out of me and into her, in waves of pleasure so intense that it almost hurt. Dazed, disoriented, unable to do anything as my mind struggled to keep up with my body, I couldn't move for a long moment._

_Her breaths were little more than gasps. All too soon, she pushed herself up on her knees once more, our bodies separating with an obnoxious pop of wet flesh separating as the suction was released. She scooted down my legs as my orgasm dripped down my cock, down my balls, only to catch the mess with the heat of her tongue, the sound of her slurping electric in the room._

_I moaned, begging her not to stop, urging her to take me deeper, suck me harder...Fuck, baby, just like that... I leaned up on my elbows, fascinated as I watched her bathe me with her mouth. Sucking one of my balls into her mouth, she rolled her tongue over it, and I fell back on the bed, overwhelmed by the sensations but urging her to prolong the torture._

"_You're still hard," she murmured, idly jacking me off with both of her hands. "Why is that?"_

"_Why do you think?" I ground out._

_Her answer was a soft laugh as she scooted forward to position herself again. She closed her eyes, sliding the tightness of her pussy down over me in one fluid motion. I urged her to grasp her heels in her hands and thrust out her hips, grinding them against me. Her back arched, thrusting her tits into the air. Rising and falling, creating a slow rhythm that increased with the sound of her breathing—panting, moaning, begging, and taking. I stared at the gorgeous swell of her breasts, mesmerized, as they bounced up and down with the graceful motions of her body._

"_Mmmmore," I groaned and moaned as I fought for restraint that I just didn't possess. "Unngghhh. . ."_

"_Like this?" she smiled, ramming herself hard on me, pleased at my near-incoherence._

_I grunted my agreement, but the sound rapidly turned into a whimper when she pulled away from me, crawling up over me to grasp the headboard. I managed to snag one of her nipples into my mouth, drawing it in deep and hard. Her body shivered as her scent exploded around me once more, and I bit down gently, prolonging her pleasure as I pinched her other nipple between thumb and index finger._

_She was so deep in the midst of her orgasm, her beautiful face contorted in an expression that bordered on pain as her pleasure intensified, that she didn't seem to notice when I rolled out from under her, positioned myself behind her, lifted her ass just a little higher to position her to receive me. Her pussy gave no resistance at all—she was too wet, too ready. With a growl, I jerked back on her hips as I thrust forward, savoring the liquid warmth that surrounded me as she opened and closed on me._

"_Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God . . ." She moaned, shoving her body against mine, meeting me somewhere in the middle as I pumped frantically, in sync w her groans._

_I was losing myself, damned if I wasn't. She was still tight, even after hours of fucking. I held myself off so she could come again, but her wild movements were pushing me to the brink. The undulation of her body, an involuntary ripple of shivers, was making it impossible for me to stave off an orgasm. It was as though everything within her was reaching for me, grasping, pulling. She gasped out my name, her body taut as she struggled for a control that just wasn't there. Grasping her hips, I jerked her back hard. She screamed, over and over, her voice calling out to me, calling out to God, alternately praying, swearing, until her words became nonsense._

_I could feel it deep inside my balls, the absolute torture right before the end. The tingle, the tightening, the swelling, the surging. Jerking her back hard, grinding my hips against her ass, I held her there, pumping her hard. She screamed, cried, laughed as her body exploded, and I closed my eyes and called out her name as the world exploded in blinding light. . ._

**XXX**

The mere memory was almost enough to drive me out from my hiding place straight to where she was but I held myself in check. She wouldn't like it. She'd be pissed off that I didn't tell her about the trip. I purposely kept silent because I knew that if I said anything, she would've made up a hundred and one excuses not to come. Goading her before she had the chance to give me hell would send me straight to the fucking dog house.

Damn if she wasn't fantastic when pissed, though. Her nostrils would flare just the tiniest bit while she'd press her lips together in a tight line as she leveled a scowl at me. She'd look at me like she couldn't decide between screaming at me or giving in to that urge to smack me in the face. I couldn't care less which option she chose. Either way, she'd make quite a ruckus – the policeman's daughter screaming at the featured pianist. How deliciously scandalous would that be?

If she'd paying attention to what I'd been saying and doing all this time, she'd know I wanted her here. If I had my way, she'd be with me at every performance, looking at me with those gorgeous brown eyes, awestruck and mesmerized. If she was forced to listen to every performance, she'd see that I could be someone beyond the fantastic lay she saw me as.

If I got lucky, I'd get my cock sucked. My playing the piano strangely turned her on and I just didn't have enough time to play for her as much as I wanted to.

If I got luckier, she'd start acknowledging the fact that I was more to her than a regular fuck. I didn't mind her discretion and her adamant refusal to go public. What we did between the sheets was no one's business but our own.

But the extent she to which she was keeping the affair on a fuck-only basis was becoming ridiculous. I was fine when she completely snubbed me when we were apart. Being clingy, or clung to, just wasn't her thing. She abhorred all displays of affection, refused to have things done for her and would absolutely retch if I did anything remotely romantic.

That would've been fine with me if she didn't take her self-imposed detachment a little too seriously. She kept me at arm's length even when we were together – always keeping her emotions in check, avoiding questions that could lead to a discussion of what the fuck we were doing. She ignored my gestures, refused my gifts and just about every little thing that I did and said that could get her more involved. I knew she was just being smart but fuck if it wasn't getting on my nerves.

She suspected something was off even though I'd been careful to keep her away from anything that would stand out as a clue to my and Jasper's illegal activities. The house, the cars – I could, and did, explain them all easily. I was a rich brat, wasn't' I? I had more money than God, if that was possible, and I had the right to spend it on whatever, whoever I wanted. So far, she'd grudgingly accepted my half-assed explanations.

"If you stare any harder, you'll bore a hole into her dress," an amused voice, low and teasing, quipped beside me.

I turned to the speaker, surprised at the intrusion. "Kate! I didn't think you could make it."

Kate Deveyrenko smirked as she accepted my embrace, her distinct perfume wafting towards my nostrils. "Did you really think I'd miss the comeback of the great Edward Cullen?"

"Is Irina here?"

"Of course, everyone's here," she said and she was right – from daughters and sons of dignitaries and Forbes Top 100, to the glittering world of movies and television and the seedy and murky underworld of just about every city in the country. The opera house was packed, and not just with people. She should know, she'd probably fucked half of them.

"The more, the merrier." Let the FBI sort them all out.

"I can see now why you wanted us all here. Irina and I had to pull a lot of strings to get everyone to this circus. Luckily, most of them can't say no to a piece of Russian pussy." She laughed prettily, her crude words in sharp contrast to her demure demeanor. "When the Veyrons start disappearing tonight, everyone here will be suspect. There'll be too many of us then and combing through the guest list would take them at least two weeks, just enough time to for you to move. You're an evil genius, Edward."

"Why, thank you, Ms. Deveyrenko," I told her, bowing theatrically, "but you know I wouldn't have come this far without your illustrious organization. If not for you, I would've been dead on my second day in prison."

"You give us too much credit," she purred and brought her hand to my arm in a gentle caress. "But I'm glad we sent Sergei to look after you while you were inside that nasty place. The Russian mafia code still has a few uses, if only to protect inmates. He was a good cellmate, yes? He got you the tattoo and perfected your Russian." A sour expression crossed her face. "If not for that woman Tanya, you wouldn't have been there in the first place."

It was a well known fact in my close circle of friends that the sisters and Tanya hated each other with a mutual passion. At some point, their animosity became so unmanageable that I'd asked the sisters to stop seeing me as Tanya would have a fit that lasted for days when I so much as glanced their way. I thought it was only within her rights to do so, as unofficially, she was considered my girlfriend then. Little did I know that she only wanted me to herself as she'd been setting up the trap for my arrest. Needless to say, the sisters hated her all the more.

"We'd have taken care of her a long time ago, if you'd only asked us to," Kate said, her hand creeping from my arm to the waistband of my pants, making no secret of what she wanted to do. In the past I would've been all over her in a flash. No man could resist the Deveyrenko advance, including me. I couldn't count the number of times I'd panted after her and her sister and got my fill. But curiously, I couldn't muster a spark of interest as her hands moved downwards, her sweet, perfumed body moving closer until she was pressed against me in the shadows, my cock hard against her hand. She purred again but the sound that I'd found absolutely enthralling before only served to deflate my hard-on. The body pressed against me felt different, the scent of her hair different, her size, her purr – everything was different and suddenly, I didn't want her close.

She was in the process of sliding down to her knees, her fingers deftly unbuttoning my pants, when I caught her and pulled her up gently. "That's all in the past now, Kate."

Her eyes widened and one of her brows raised in tentative confusion, probably unsure which one I meant – my refusal to have Tanya offed or my lust for her. It was both.

She regarded me for a long moment, until a light came into her eyes.

"I see...," she said. "You'd rather suffer through the next hour with a severe case of blue balls than let me help you."

"I've had worse."

She narrowed her eyes. "You really don't want me to. Why's that?"

I shrugged. "We don't have time, I'm due back onstage in the next few minutes."

"That's a lame excuse to tell a lady, Edward," she smiled, amused at the bald lie. "Not that I claim to be one."

"And how would you know I'm not telling the truth?"

"Because, my dear lover," she smirked, "You're hard as a rock but your blood does not rush to your cock when I do this..." She rubbed me through my pants. "You breathe evenly, your pulse does not quicken, I can see nothing in you that says you want me touching you. You are too polite to refuse me because, after all, didn't we have the wildest fun before? You and me; you and 'Rina; then you and me and 'Rina together."

I laughed again, because she was right on all counts. "Those were the days, eh?"

"You turn me down even if you're just about to burst in your very expensive pants, which means only one thing."

"And what would that be?"

"It means that you, Edward Cullen, are absolutely besotted with someone else and I'd bet both my tits that it's that pretty little thing you were dying to eat earlier. She has your cock firmly wrapped around her little fingers, whether she knows it or not, so that the mere thought of my mouth wrapped around it makes you feel guilty...like you're giving away something that's already hers."

"Maybe," I laughed again to cover a groan, imaging Bella's fingers wrapped around my cock. "Wanna find out?"

"Bah, you are such an arrogant bastard," she laughed, her words contrasting with the indulgent expression on her face. "As if you could fool me. I've met others like you...men who'd get turned off by the smell of pussy other than their _golubushka_. Is her pussy nice and sweet? Delicious?"

If we hadn't been hiding in the dark, probably being spied on by a dozen agents, I would've laughed out loud.

"Oh, Katie, I've missed you and your obsession with pussy."

"And cocks," she conceded, breaking out into giggles. "Don't forget that I am as enthralled with cocks, including yours."

She slipped her arms around me in an easy, affectionate embrace. It was funny, how she'd always been more a friend than a lover.

"So how many did we get?" She was asking how many agents had us under surveillance.

"Fifty inside, fifty outside and around the hotel," I answered her, quoting Jasper's estimates. A hundred FBI agents, drawn to the fray like sharks drawn to the scent of blood.

"Should I warn the others?"

"Fuck, no," I told her, "let the FBI have their fun. Just don't let the Giancanas sit too close to your minions or we'll have a bloodbath on our hands."

She snorted, an indelicate sound coming from a very delicate girl. "Every one's been uncharacteristically well behaved, unlike you. Are you sure you don't need any help?"

"I might actually need some," I said, thinking of a way out of the hole I'd dug myself in. Bella was going to be more difficult than usual and I didn't have the time to get into her good graces before I could get into her pants, or under her slip of a dress. "Think you can get the pretty little thing to my room?"

"Honey, I could get anyone, anywhere," she purred again. "And what do I get in return?"

I laughed, knowing her predilections. "This one's mine, Kate, so no touching."

"Not even a little kiss?"

As much as the thought of seeing the two of them kissing was tempting, I doubted if Bella would find the idea appealing.

"Not today." Not ever, probably.

"Fine," she pursed her lips, unaccustomed to being denied twice. "Tell me who's getting the first car instead."

"Take a wild guess."

"I can't," she said. "All of your women are here so she's probably someone new who I haven't met before."

"How'd you know she's a she?"

"Because it's always a girl, Edward, who gets the first ride in your schemes."

Of course, it was. Only she wasn't mine but Jasper's. Said girl had convinced me of her grim determination and I had absolute faith in her. I trained her myself. She was a quick study, almost a natural. After all, we shared an awful lot of genes.

"You'll see," I told her, prefering to keep her identity as another secret. It was too dangerous to disclose her, too close to home. Besides, Jasper would kill me if I jeopardized her first foray into what was becoming a family business.

Remembering her misguided loyalty, I could almost hear her say again.

_I know what you're doing._

Of course, she did. Jasper and I had left enough crumbs for her to follow, the rest she figured out for herself. What can I say? She might look flighty at first but she was smart. We shared the same blood, didn't we?

I gave her the first car to boost because it was the easiest. She'd convincingly feigned an upset stomach at the last minute when we were leaving the mansion, conveniently missing my performance. From the time we left, she'd pretend to stay in her room, aided by Renata and Claudia, temps I sent over to cover up for her. She'd slip away from the mansion easily, get picked up by Derrick at the nearest corner, fly to Texas in a private, chartered plane where Garrett, the diamond thief, would meet her. From there, they'd go to Galveston where I first saw some idiot nearly run his Veyron into a lake.

Galveston, Texas. More than three hours away by plane. I couldn't possibly be there while I was out partying hard in L.A. Before I'm done with my last piece, she would be quietly and very easily driving away our first Veyron. Jasper had fussed over the preparations for days, leaving no detail to chance. Everything was perfect, and as far as I could tell, running smoothly. I'd no doubt Jasper would be bursting into the dressing room in hysterics at something as irrelevant as a traffic light giving the wrong signal.

By midnight, she'd arrive at a pre-planned destination where a truck would be on hand to transport the car to the nearest port. She'd board a plane and fly to another state, a timezone away. By noon the next day, she'd call her mother to say she'd miraculously recovered from stomach flu and beg to be allowed to fly to L.A. where we were staying for the rest of the week. Her mother would refuse. Her leave of absence only covered two days and she had classes the next day – classes she wouldn't be attending as she'd be too busy assisting with the other heists. She'd call again the next day, a call traceable to the mansion in Forks with a little help from Jasper's astounding skills, placing her nowhere near the scene of her crimes.

"Poor Alice," I thought with a smirk. She'd be somewhere near the target Veyron just about now, casing the area with sweaty palms and a racing heart. In less than an hour, she'd be behind the wheel, feeling an exhiliration that she'd never felt before in her entire life. Poor Alice, indeed. Jasper and I were a lot younger, with far less experience and no back-up when we boosted our first super cars.

The next day, another Veyron would disappear. Then three more. A pattern would emerge on the fourth day, when it would be apparent that a ring was targeting a special type of Veyron. The FBI would be called in but it would be too late. By that time, a total of ten Veyrons would've disappeared and would be at sea, making their way to Belgium.

Getting to half of the targets before the alarm is sounded wasn't bad. Making the FBI run around in circles for the next half was going to be worth the hassle.

"Penny for your thoughts...," I heard Kate's voice beside me, faint and questioning. She probably thought I'd zoned out again.

I hadn't. I was, instead, raptly following what was going on in the lobby.

A woman had walked in and even at a distance, I knew who she was instinctively as I'd been expecting her. Tanya Denali was, after all, considered the "Cullen expert." She cut quite a figure, tall and imposing, as she entered the area with purposeful strides, going straight to where the police officers, including Charlie Swan, were congregating. She started talking quietly, occasionally glancing around as if looking for something. Or someone. She'd know I'd have the group watched.

The agent was standing close to Bella, and Bella was looking at her with a puzzled, curious stare. It wouldn't take her long to figure out who the woman was, and draw her own conclusions.

The strange calm washed over me as another part of the plan slid into place. The game just cranked a notch higher.

I grasped Kate's arm and led her away before she could see the other woman and launch into another hateful diatribe.

"On second thoughts," I told her, as I pulled her back with me towards the dressing rooms, "just bring her to me after the performance."

"You poor thing," she shook her head at me in mock pity, oblivious of what I just witnessed. "This one's really got you by the balls, huh?"

I kept silent as I led her away. I suppose Bella did have my balls in her small, talented hands. I haven't been able to think of anyone else since the first time I met her.

**O_O**

**Yep, there's a Part 2 somewhere in my hard drive, with a limo and some drinking and oh, possibly an elevator.**

**Ladies, you know the drill.  
**


	14. Chapter 14

**It's here! Finally. So sorry for the long, long wait, ladies, I've just been swamped with work and well, things.**

**M edited it a long time ago but I tinkered with it so the mistakes are all mine.**

** ENJOY THE HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE!**

The performance was over, and we were out of the concert hall then, the low growl of humanity teaming around us. Instead of a quick and casual goodbye, Charlie stood talking with the L.A. cops while I waited for him at a distance. Even from afar, I knew what was going on, what he was about to say when he joined me minutes later.

"Bella, honey, can you wait for me at the hotel? I have to back with the guys to their station," Charlie said, grimacing in apology for another unexpected cancellation. It was our last night in L.A. and we'd planned to go to a little restaurant near the hotel to cap our unexpected trip so he was trying to show proper disappointment. But try as he might, he couldn't hide the excitement in his voice completely. It wasn't everyday he was invited to a big city operation.

"Sure, don't worry about it," I assured him. We were in L.A. on official police business. It was almost a miracle that he wasn't called in for duty on the first day. "I'll just order room service or something."

He kissed me on the cheek, still apologetic. "I'll call you as soon as I get back, okay? Maybe we can still have a late dinner."

I doubted it, but nodded all the same. Something that involved the FBI and the local police force was bound to take time.

It wasn't that hard to miss that something was up. There were at least a dozen agents in the lobby alone, probably more tucked in the shadows and outside the concert hall At first, I thought they were security detail for VIPs in attendance so I purposely dismissed the possibility that they were there to keep Edward in check..

But then, Agent Denali walked in, erasing any doubt that somehow, Edward Cullen was the target.

Tanya Denali, the woman who successfully trapped Edward Cullen, was far from what I imagined her to be. I wouldn't even have known it was her if I hadn't been standing close to Charlie's group and heard her introduce herself simply, even brusquely, as "Denali."

Tall and blonde, she exuded a confidence and feminine grace unmarred by the generic pantsuit she wore and the telltale bulge of a firearm on her hip. Her face had the barest hint of make-up, but that only served to highlight how naturally beautiful she was.

She spoke briefly but with authority to the cops in the lobby, before leaving with two agents close on her heels. Cool and calm, she came across as someone efficient, someone who got the job done, an admirable trait given she was working inside a predominantly man's world.

In another time and another place, I would've liked her.

But at that moment, all I could feel was an irrational panic. Damn Edward. What the fuck was he doing? Whatever it was, it was alarming enough for the FBI to throw Denali, a compromised agent, into his path again. What was he thinking? He couldn't possibly be aiming to go back to prison again.

Unless that was what he wanted all along, to lure Tanya Denali into the open. The thought was more unsettling than I cared to admit.

I've told him before, I wasn't stupid. I knew exactly what I was getting into when I allowed myself to get carried away. My distance was deliberate, I didn't want to get caught up in his criminal past. I figured I could just turn a blind eye if something like this happened. Or I could just walk away, with as much of my dignity intact.

Whenever I stopped and considered the implications of our fling—which was what we were having, more or less—I know it's a mistake, one that could only end badly. We've done too much, too soon, and we're in too deep to go back. I wasn't ready to trust him and he hasn't done anything that could've redeemed himself.

But I wasn't ready to give him up yet, even if I was damned sure I'll be kicked to the curb whenever he's done with me.

So I did the most sensible thing, given the circumstances. As soon as the police car taking Charlie disappeared in traffic, I turned my back and went into the concert hall to look for answers.

Slipping into the hall proved to be easy. The lobby and two main entrances were filled with people – musicians carrying their instruments, security and staff all scurrying to what sounded like the beginnings of a party down one corridor. They were understandably in high spirits as the performance was a rousing success. Cutting through the crowd, I made my way to the back of the stage, towards a hallway that I assumed led to the dressing rooms.

The crowd was starting to thin out around the back and I was about to turn down one of the corridors when a guard blocked my way, stopping my progress. "Excuse me, Miss, but this area's restricted."

"She's with me," a woman's voice, a soft-alto that strangely sounded like a purring feline, intervened smoothly. Where she came from, I had no idea. She showed her backstage pass to the guard and before I could ask who she was, she looped her arm around mine and pulled me into the restricted corridor. "Come along, darling."

Her grip on my arm was firm under the gossamer sleeves of her dress, belying a strength under the fragile, waif-like demeanor. She pulled me past the hallway and into another corridor with a series of doors.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Let's just say we share a mutual friend," she purred again. She was almost a foot taller than I was, with dark hair and blood red lips. Eastern European or Russian, judging from her accent.

At the end of the hall, she opened a door and pulled me into a dimly lit room.

"Here we are," she announced gaily to the seemingly empty dressing room. Letting me go, she went straight to the dresser where a bottle of whiskey and some paper cups were conveniently located, poured herself a drink and turned to me. "Would you care for a drink?"

"No, thank you," I declined politely.

"Suit yourself, darling." She downed her drink smoothly, covering the burn of the liquor with a soft giggle and I was starting to wonder about the sanity of letting myself get dragged around by a stranger when I heard a low chuckle.

"That was fast." There was no mistaking the voice.

"Pfft," the other girl said, "I didn't do anything. She was wandering in the corridor like a lost puppy."

I hadn't seen him right away as he was leaning against the farthest wall, half-hidden by the shadows. Straightening his frame, he came into the light and suddenly all I could think about was just how tall he was, how broad his shoulders were. . . and how perfectly he matched the other woman.

He was different. He seemed distant and aloof, far from the sex-fiend that I knew. Standing off to the side, with the light at the back of his head, I couldn't rightly see his eyes to guess what he was thinking but I could sense tension lurking beneath the carefully constructed calm.

"Thank you, Kate," he told the other girl, leaning towards her to buss her on the cheek. "I owe you."

"So you do," she answered with the same lazy purr, "you can thank me later. And before you can kick me out, I'm going. See you at the club, lover."

_ 'Lover?'_

So that's what she meant when she said we "shared a friend."

"Kate" winked at him and wiggled her fingers at me before going out the door, leaving me with an unsettled feeling that I had stumbled into something I'd rather not know. First Tanya Denali, and then this. I didn't know if I should be insulted to be introduced so casually to the other women in his life.

"Did you know that you show your emotions so openly on your face?"

As much as the unwanted information rankled, I didn't come looking for him to talk about the women he'd fucked, past or present. Especially when he had the gall to be amused about it.

"What's going on?"

He shrugged, "Kate's an old friend."

Yeah, well, whatever.

"I mean, why is this place surrounded by FBI?"

"Oh, that one," he said. "That's nothing."

I hated how easily he lied.

Technically, he wasn't even lying, just deflecting a direct question but the effect was the same. It should've stopped me, like it did the previous times I started to ask him about the things he did, but not this time.

Taking a deep breath, I tried again. "You're not in trouble, are you?"

"If I was, don't worry about it, you'll have plenty of time to jump off the boat."

"Don't be stupid. Whatever it is has nothing to do with me."

"You mean you've never thought that if the FBI came sniffing around, there's a good chance they'd find you out? Hooking up with a known criminal, that wouldn't look so good on your resume, wouldn't it?"

_'What the hell?'_ "If I cared about some fucking resume, I wouldn't be here.I'd be back in fucking Forks, not caring what happened to your ass."

"You didn't come for me, you came for your father – "

"Who is out there right now with the FBI, waiting for you to pull something dragging him into this really necessary?"

"You wouldn't have come if not for him."

No, I wouldn't have. If he asked, I would've refused. If he'd warned me, I would've thought of a hundred excuses not to come. It took a moment before I realized that he wasn't bitter about it, only a little resigned.

"Don't worry about Charlie," he said. "He's going to be fine. The FBI's just checking on the guest list."

"The guest list?"

"Most of my… friends were in the audience."

"You mean your associates."

He gave me a thin smile. "_Suspected _associates and no, some of them are friends. I do have some. Would you like to meet them?"

For what? As what? But in an instant, I understood the meaning of the invitation. He was trying to draw me into his world. I'd already seen him out in the open, surrounded by people of his kind. Now he wanted me to see another side, one that's not easily accessible to anyone.

Not even the FBI.

I should refuse but I couldn't help it. The curious part of me, the part who pored over his files, was screaming to say yes, the offer was too good to pass up. But another part realized what it meant, what I was going to concede if I agreed to be seen in public with him.

"One night...that's all I ask, just one night. Your secret will be safe."

He always knew the right words to say. Damn him.

"Fine, one night. . ."

**XXX**

We went to the 23rd floor of a ritzy hotel, across a hallway lined with red maple wood paneling lit by Swarovski crystal lighting. From the outside of the huge cedar doors, I'd have thought we'd be going into a sedate sitting room where old men smoked cigars and swilled brandy, complete with a softly lit backdrop and classsical music playing unobstrusively in the background.

It wasn't a sedate sitting room..It wasn't even a room at all but a tightly-packed concert club; with flashing lights, elevated bars and a band playing on the center. Spanning half the floor of the hotel, it was one of those hip places celebrities and socialites frequented and it teemed with beautiful faces; some famous, some vaguely familiar. Throbbing music permeated every inch of the place, pulsating in the cold air wafting through the large air vents like a living, breathing organism. The lingering smoke of the marijuana cloud immediately assaulted my senses the moment we entered the "club" and it clung to my nostrils despite my efforts to shake it off.

People swamped Edward as soon as he was spotted and I shrank back to the shadows, thankful for the diversion. I made my way to one of the bars, intent on staying out of the limelight for the entire night.

Unfortunately, that wasn't why I was there in the first place.

"Glad you could make it,"a familiar purring voice piped up beside me and as annoyed as I was earlier, I was grateful for a familiar presence. Sort of familiar, anyway. Kate sat on the stool next to mine and ordered a drink. "Edward asked me to look out for you. And no, no need to introduce yourself. We already know who you are, darling."

_ 'We?' _It was going to be some night.

I ordered whiskey, straight up. I wasn't much of a drinker but one look around the place told me I wasn't going to survive if I didn't get a little wasted. The bartender set a glass on the bar and I downed the contents in one gulp, grimacing as the burn slid down my throat. Almost immediately, I felt the effects of the alcohol in my system, spreading warmth all over my body and blanking my mind.

I asked for another.

By the time I was on my third drink, I was relaxed enough to engage Kate in small talk. It was only then that the introductions began.

An older man, Peter, and a woman Kate introduced as Mina came first. Then a pair of brothers came by to chat and after them, two girls – sisters – with the shocking red hair of their Irish ancestors, and their brother. A woman came who bore a strong resemblance to Kate came over and chatted for a while. Irina, she introduced herself. They'd wander to the bar, in ones or twos, stare at me unobstrusively and exchange pleasantries. It was a relatively small circle, I realized, and if hadn't drank too much, too soon, I would've remembered everyone's faces and what they talked about.

The whole time I was being "introduced" to his friends – as archaic as that sounded – Edward stayed away. It was close to an hour later that I saw him again.

He was standing at the far end of the room, talking to a man with blond, tousled hair. The man was younger than those I've seen, and he almost never looked up from the device he had in his hands. Apparently, I wasn't going to be introduced to this one, specific friend.

Finding him almost as soon as I did, Kate finished her drink and rose from her seat, her babysitting duties over.

"Remember, darling, he's all yours," she told me before leaving, bussing me on the cheek in a detached, yet friendly way. "You take good care of him for us."

I opened my mouth to say something back, only to realize I didn't know what to make out of her request. She left, and I was surprised to find myself wishing she wouldn't go yet. Maybe it was because of her odd request that I found myself liking her despite my initial misgivings.

As if he could feel me looking at him, the said "shared friend" looked up and found me instantly. Green eyes looked at me from across the room, tinged by the haze of smoke that lent a dream-like quality to the entire place.

He cut through the crowd, seemingly obliviously to the people around him. Someone shoved a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand and he slugged it down in one fluid gulp, handing the bottle back without breaking his stride. Shrugging off those who were trying to get his attention, he moved through the crowd without deviation, the heavy beat of the drum goading him further, drawing him closer . . .

I watched him, mesmerized. It was almost like the first time, only stronger, more desperate. This time, we weren't strangers anymore. We knew each other as intimately as we knew ourselves yet the mystery remained.

_"He's all yours..." _Kate's words echoed in my mind and yes, he was. He needed me as desperately as I wanted him, however irrational that was.

One night, he said, just one night and I'd agreed.

Fuck being sensible.

Taking in a lungful of marijuana smoke, I slid down from the stool and started to make my way towards him. Meeting him in the middle of undulating and gyrating bodies,

For an instant, an eternity, I was blind. Edward tasted like whisky, and smoke and _him_, and for a moment, I'm flying, dancing without feet.

"Let's get out of here," I told him as I tried to catch my breath.

He nodded once and without a word, pulled me through the crowd and outside the thick, cedar doors. The sound of the party stopped abruptly as the doors closed behind us and we were in the chandelier-lit hallways before I could even blink. The first elevator we chanced upon opened at our approach, miraculously empty.

His zipper was down and I was sucking him even before the doors closed behind us. I was clumsy, my motions jerky, but it didn't matter. He came almost immediately, staggering away from me as his semen arced into the air—leaving a mess on the floor. Leaning heavily against the wall as his breathing came, stunted and shallow, he closed his eyes for just a moment.

The elevator doors opened into a suite and without ceremony, he dragged me to the nearest bed. He was gentle, but firm as he pushed me down, shedding his clothes messily. I scooted back on the bed, kicking off my heels but he had other ideas.

He fell to his knees beside the bed, grasping my legs behind my knees and dragged and spread my legs. He tore away my panties and buried his tongue deep inside me, shocking me into my first orgasm. He showed no mercy, licking and sucking my pussy, even as I begged him...

_ 'Wait...Gimme a minute...Jesus...Fuck!'_

Grasping my knees, he turned me over so I lay face down on the bed and spread me wide. The position blinded me, as I couldn't see what he was up to right away. He puIled me up, had me on my hands and knees and opened me further. Lifting my ass, his tongue flicked out and a roughened cry spilled from me . . .

_ 'Oh, God... ' _An absolute shocking, undeniable pleasure, rocked through me. . .

A growl slipped from him as he crawled above me, positioning his cock against my pussy. He was inside in one stroke, the crack of flesh slapping against flesh making a harsh sound in the still air as he started to move. My body convulsed around him, my pussy tightening and tensing as another orgasm rocked me a mere few seconds later .

Grasping at the sheets, I ground my ass against him as he reached around, stroked my clit with deft fingers as he pumped his cock into me, the sound of his thighs slapping into my ass loud in the air. The ache between my legs and my belly spiralled into acute pain as my body raced to the next release. . .

"H-harder," I whispered, arching back to meet his thrusts, my body trembling under the firm hold he had on my hips. Breaking out in a sweat, I felt the beginnings of another, more powerful orgasm. I gasped, the abrupt whispers echoing in my head like gunfire.

_ Harder...harder...harder...harder. . . Fuck._

I felt him gather my hair into his fist without breaking rhythm and with one powerful thrust of his hips, he pulled – hard. I sobbed, and wailed, but he was relentless, pounding into me over and over.

"Oh, God."

The harsh throb of his cock inside me signaled the rapid approach of his release; and he started to groan – low and steady – as he warded off his own orgasm, holding his own body hostage as he tried to last longer. I pushed myself up, reaching back to latch blindly on his hair and he tumbled forward, bearing me down against the bed. I braced my knees against the mattress, fucking him back as hard as he was driving into me, meeting his thrusts with my own. My screams echoed off the walls, my fingers clenched around fistfuls of the sheets as he latched and sucked at the curve of my throat and gently, but firmly, sank his teeth without breaking skin….

I lost track of how many times I came from then. Nothing mattered, except his cock inside me; his mouth on my skin; his growls, groans and curses.

At the last moment, he reared up, grasping my hips so hard that was sure to leave marks in the morning, and shook – long and hard – losing himself in the frenzy.

He collapsed against me, thrashing and incoherent, his body convulsing from the force of his orgasm. His cock jerked wildly inside me; his hips thrusting as he groaned like he was dying. I spread my hands so he could twine his fingers with mine and held on as he rode out his release.

After what seemed like forever, he rolled over, dragging me with him, flush against his side, his cock still deep inside me. The moment felt so right, so perfect, despite the slight thickness that gathered around the edges of my consciousness and the beginnings of an ache borne out of worn-out muscles.

His breathing was still ragged, and he groaned softly when I shifted to the side, his cock sliding out. He was still hard, god knows how, and I knew damn well he could easily go another round or two. But I was tired, exhausted, and if he wanted to go another, he'd just have to do all the work.

He just smiled when I told him just that.

His body seemed to meld against mine when he lay down, and I heaved a sigh as he kissed my lips, my cheek, my eyes and held me close. It was a couple of seconds when I realized he was humming softly, his fingers pressing on my skin like unseen keys as they kept to the tune. It was slow and gentle, unlike most of the pieces I've heard him play.

"You were great out there. . ." I whispered, remembering how he played earlier. Save for his soft humming, the room was suddenly, completely silent.

"Yeah?" he asked, smiling sleepily against my skin.

"Yeah." I nodded, stifling a yawn as a comfortable lethargy ebbed over me as he continued to drum his fingers to the silent tune.

"Thanks for coming," he whispered back.

"You're welcome," I answered, fighting sleep as my eyes drifted closed seemingly of their own accord . "Although you really should've told me first."

"Next time."

"Next time?"

I heard him murmur something in response, but I was slipping and I couldn't make out his reply.

`_I'll ask in the morning._' I thought as the last strands of coherence grew taut then broke.

XXX

Four days later, I was back in Forks, the memories of that night receding to the back of my mind, like a surreal, hallucinogenic dream. I'd woken up the next morning, alone and naked inside the room. There was a change of clothes on the bedside table, alongside a note that instructed me to call a number whenever I was ready to go. Edward later sent a message telling me that he'd be staying in L.A. for the rest of the week and that he'd see me on Sunday.

Luckily, Charlie was delayed at the station until midmorning, giving me enough time to wash off the residue of the night and organize my thoughts into a semblance of order. I'd gone straight to Tacoma that same day to catch up on my classes. Edward had sent a message later that he'd be staying in L.A. for the rest of the week and that he'd see me on Sunday.

Chalking it up as just one of those extraordinary nights born out of drinking too much, I thought nothing of it again. That is, until I went to visit Charlie at his station on Sunday morning and saw the place swarming with FBI agents.

"What's going on?" I whispered to Sherry, the station's youngest officer, trying not to gawk at the agents.

"Something to do with that hunk of a man who came here months ago. You remember him, right? Dr. Cullen's nephew," she said dreamily before adding, "your Dad's with some agents inside the conference room."

A cold dread rose from the pit of my stomach, instinctively knowing something was about to go wrong. Slowly, I walked towards the door and leaned close. From outside, I could hear a voice giving out details of a party involving close to a hundred people.

"It's a possible ruse, we've known him to use his performances as a cover," the voice was saying. "He mixes socialites, celebrities and heirs to lead us in a wild goose chase and tie our hands. The guest list is long and exclusive, and we have to be very careful when dealing with these people. If we so much as breath some of their names, we'd be slapped with a suit as big as Texas."

"We're trying to confirm who came and what's going on," the voice continued, "we figured we'd start with someone."

"This girl," A projector whirled and there was a sudden shuffle in the seats, like everyone just sat up to attention. "She was with him the entire time. They were spotted going out of the hall to the limo. She was seen with him later, at the club at The Ritz where they disappeared. She and Cullen were the only ones we didn't see leave the club after the party broke up at close to 4AM. It's highly likely that they left before and stayed in one of the suites as agents failed to spot them leave the building, not through the known exits, anyway. A helicopter was reported to have made an emergency landing on the hotel's pad at dawn but there were no records of any passengers when it landed on a nearby airstrip so we have actually no idea who and where the girl went – "

I turned the doorknob, stepped in and stilled …

The photograph on the whiteboard showed a grainy picture of a couple, framed by a familiar back door. Another photo flashed of the same man shielding the girl, his white tuxedo shirt in bright contrast to the dark background, his face unmarred by the shadows.

_ 'Holymotherfuckinggod.'_

It was Edward and he was holding me, shielding my face so that only a portion of his black tuxedo jacket and felt hat showed. He'd insisted I put on his jacket before we went out of the dressing room and topped it with a felt hat. It felt vaguely silly, then, and I'd laughed, thinking it was a joke.

A wave of nausea shot through me and I struggled to keep my breakfast in.

_ 'He'd known...the whole time...'_

It really shoudn't have surprised me. Edward was too meticulous to take anything for granted. He knew, as much as I did, that time would come that we'd be found out and the little secret world would come crashing down around us. But not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine it would come down this way; not with a dozen FBI agents hunting me down and half of Fork's police force looking on.

Stunned, I looked on as a succession of photos continued; all grainy, all without a clear shot of my face and I prayed like I've never prayed before that there were no photos, or God forbid, a videos of us inside the elevator.

"These photos were the only ones we were able to secure. As is Cullen's standard procedure, he'd had security footages from the hotel they went to later were erased before we got hold of them."

Whatever relief I felt was shortlived.

"We have no way of knowing how long they've known each other," the man continued talking. "But it's not too far off to think that he met her somewhere close, as we haven't monitored him leaving the Washington area in the past few months. It is also possible that he's been seeing her on the side. Cullen is known for not staying in the same place twice so we're looking for possible areas, rendezvous places, anywhere they could've been spotted."

_ 'He doesn't stay in one place twice? But – the house, the cars, the visits– it's been routine for weeks...'_

"We've pegged her as about 18 years old or even younger," the man continued, "probably a student so we'll scout around colleges and some high schools. Brunette, 5-2. According to our sources, it would seem that none of the coven know her so chances are, she's an outsider."

"The coven?" someone asked.

"Cullen's coven, his tightly-knit band of pedigree friends who've sworn him eternal allegiance and absolute secrecy. He's known them all since childhood. Together, they cut across all financial and economic activities – oil, real estate, mining, shipping, stock markets, air travel, you name it. A complete empire unto itself, or rather, a complete crime organization. With the exception of last Monday's party, they'd never been seen together in one place, and rumors are he's never let anyone into the circle who didn't grow up with him. If we want to have a peek at what Cullen is up to, this girl is our best shot.

We're asking you to look out for her. She's the only girl we could find that Cullen's hooked up with since his release and he's known for being obsessive with his conquests, when and if he's not busy plotting his next heist. It's not farfetched that the girl will show up here in Forks, if she hasn't already, and when she does, we want you to notify us immediately and put her on round-the-clock surveillance."

_ 'Jesus fucking Christ.'_

"Do not approach or apprehend her. Knowing Cullen, he'd have prepared for the possibility that we'd find her so he'll have her watched at all times. We need to get her some place he can't get to her before we talk to her."

'_Get me some place to talk to me? To do what? Turn against him? And why the hell would he have me watched at all times?' _I wasn't someone like Tanya Denali. It wasn't like he didn't know who I was.

_ 'Unless he knew this would happen...' _

The cold dread blossomed further, as the realization that I was totally screwed from both sides hit me. At the back of my mind, I knew it was my own doing that landed me right in the middle of the mess. I shouldn't have gone to L.A. I shouldn't have gone looking for him in his dressing room, either. I should've refused when he asked me to go to the club with him. I could've but I didn't.

Too late. The moment I'd dreaded had come. Charlie was bound to find out sooner or later and if I kept my silence, things would look worse than they already were.

It was then or never.

Most of the officers and agents hadn't paid me any attention since I stepped into the room, probably thinking I was a junior officer or a secretary. So I stepped forward, right where most of them could see me and choked out: "That's me."

Charlie looked up from his seat, noticing me for the first time. Glancing round, he smiled apologetically at my interruption and stood up. "Oh, hey. Um, this is my daughter, Bella, she helps around sometimes. . . excuse us... Are you looking for a file?"

"Yes – I mean, no –"

It was so hard to stand there and breath in the sudden, stunned silence. Everyone was looking at me wondering if they'd heard me right, staring at me with dumbfounded expressions. Brunette, 5-2, young, a student – I was a perfect match. Everyone stared – except Charlie, who didn't seem to have heard what I just said or maybe he did but refused to listen to it because the thought was ridiculous, downright absurd.

He stood up and as he neared me, gingerly reached for my forehead with the instinct of a devoted parent. "Are you all right? You look pale."

I shook my head, then nodded, my guts twisting as the cold noose of self-recriminations closed around my neck.

"Dad, the girl they're looking for," I told him, bracing myself for the blowback, "is me."

**XXX**

**I'm going to be out of the grid again. Review and surprise me when I get back.**


	15. Chapter 15

**It's here! Yep. But you might want to reread the last chapter since it's been a while. Sorry for that, guys.**

**Thanks again to M, my friend. And thank you, ladies, for all the love and kind reviews. **

**XXX  
**

"_That's me."_

Bella's voice came through, choked but defiant, as she faced her father and FBI agents in the conference room inside Fork's small police station. I'd been listening to their conversation through a small device that Jasper gave me. Not only did it give me direct access to all his networks, it also featured a channel that was constantly tuned into Bella's phone. Whether her phone was turned on or not, a powerful mike picked up several conversations around her at any given time. Voice recognition software automatically isolated and cleaned up her voice to make it easier for me to follow. Luckily, she took the thing everywhere, as per her father's rules.

"_I didn't know who he was!"_

She'd been arguing with the chief inside his office, ignoring the other agents' questions.

"_Did you arrange to meet him in L.A.?"_

"_No! I didn't even know he was going until you told me. Dad, please, you have to believe me."_

An agent cut in. _"How did you meet him, Ms. Swan?"_

"_We met on the train going to Tacoma.. .he was just some guy..."_

Just some guy she fucked without asking his name, some guy she continued seeing even after she found out, some guy she kept as her dirty, little secret. She'd done nothing wrong, but she should've realized that sleeping with me would be a crime in itself.

"_Dad, I was going to tell you."_

The excuse sounded pathetic, even more so across digital lines.

"_Chief Swan, can we talk to your daughter alone?"_

A man's voice rasped through the lines, grave and familiar.

Yes, Charlie, let them use the conference room. That would make it easier for me to follow as Jasper had a tap on the room's CCTV there.

A door opened, then closed, and I switched on a channel.

Two agents, both male, sat across from Bella in the white, rectangular room with bare furniture. The door had barely closed when the questions began.

"_Ms. Swan, how long have you known Edward Cullen? What is the nature of your relationship? How many times have you seen him? Where did you go? What did you do?_

_Why didn't you inform anyone of your relationship?_

_Edward Cullen is a psychopath, he looks for your weakness and exploits it to manipulate you, make you do what he wants..._

…_.glib and superficial, egocentric and grandiose, lacking in remorse, guilt and empathy, will be deceitful and manipulative..._

Yes, yes, and yes. They were telling Bella things she already knew. She'd read my files from beginning to end and knew what she was getting into. The agent wasn't aware of it but he was riling her up, his questions seemingly dampening her impulsive decisions.

_I'm not a suspect, am I?_

_No, of course not._

A woman appeared on screen and sat across from Bella, her back to the camera. I didn't need to see her face to know who she was.

"_Bella, my name is Tanya. I know this must be awkward for you but we need to ask you these questions."_

"_Yeah. . .sure."_

"_I understand why you kept your affair with Cullen a secret."_

She opened a folder and started laying out pictures.

"_Have you seen this man?"_

"_That – that's Derrick, he picks me up when Edward can't."_

A short pause as Tanya glanced at the other agent. Bella wouldn't have noticed it but I could almost see the tension rise inside the room.

"_Bella, this man's real name is Felix Accardo and he's a hitman for the Giancana family in Chicago."_

"_What?"_

Out came other pictures, images they let Bella see and confirm. Mina, Peter, Kate, Irina and the others.

_Have you ever seen or met them before last Monday's party?_

_No._

_Have you met others?_

_No, just Derrick ...and the women who came to clean the house and cook._

_House? What house?_

And so it went, with the FBI stumbling on one secret after another as Bella unwittingly revealed more. Carlisle's birthday, the visits to Evergreen, the cars, the house in Tacoma. The agents were relentless, leaving no question unasked, even the most uncomfortable. Every now and then, her tone would falter slightly, answering questions warily.

_The cars, what kinds were they?_

_A Romeo, a Koenigsegg – small, fast ones._

_No Veyrons?_

_No, no Veyrons. Why do you ask?_

They really didn't think I'd drive a stolen car so soon, didn't they?

"_Ten Veyrons have been stolen in the span of ten days and the jobs have Edward Cullen's signature written all over the them. No signs of forced entry, security cameras tampered and scrambled making it impossible to pinpoint the exact time of the theft, powdered bleach all over the place, spoiling any chance to recover any DNA. We've never gotten around to revealing his MO to the public so either he has an extremely well-informed copycat or he's stealing again, which is highly probable given his activities for the past week. This is where you come in, Ms. Swan, as it would appear that you were the only other person he was in contact with before he went to L.A."_

I knew that the bleach was the first thing they'd notice, but I couldn't resist the taunt. Where's the fun in stealing if no one was trying to catch you?

_I have no idea what you're talking about._

_So you're saying you met him for sex? Just sex?_

The questions got more abrasive, less friendly, when the agents realized they weren't going to get anything from her. Tanya stayed in the background and I knew that by then, they were sufficiently baffled by the inconsistencies.

After a while, I took off my earphones and punched in Jasper's number. So far, the FBI's questions were all standard, confirming the fact that they knew nothing I didn't want them to know.

Two beeps and the connection went through. Nobody answered, and there was no sound except for the whirl and beeps of the machines in the background before Jasper appeared on screen.

"Are you getting everything?"

A thoughtful hmmm, a slight shuffle as Jasper pulled his knees up to his chest as was his normal thinking position. "She's going to figure out you set her up."

"I took precautions to hide her identity, it was her decision to out herself."

"Incidentals. You brought her to LA when you knew we'd be watched and stuck her in a crowd where she'd stand out. Even if we secured all the hotel cameras, there were hundreds of personal phones in that area that night. Someone would have captured her and it would've been just a matter of time before the FBI got a visual that was clear enough to identify her. She'd be right to assume that, and outing herself is a pre-emptive move to avoid more suspicion."

"She's a very smart girl."

"She's also a dead end," Jasper continued, as if I'd said nothing. "The FBI won't get anything useful from her, except confirm what they already know so –" Jasper stopped, frowning. "The point of exposing her would be... to expose her."

"About time, too."

"And...you wanted her to know in a roundabout way to see how she'd react to the information..."

" – with which the FBI is doing an excellent job."

"And you wanted her to confuse them, as the information she's supplying them is inconsistent with your profile, making it harder for them to anticipate your next move."

I laughed. "People change."

"No, they don't," Jasper disagreed. "Not you."

_Not me, _I agreed silently.

"Mina already sent your lawyers from Seattle," Jasper said. All throughout he'd spoken in a flat, disapproving tone. "Two of them are on their way to the station right now."

"Call them off, tell them to stay close but not to interfere. I'll handle this."

Jasper was silent and I could see that he was still frowning.

"You're going in yourself." A half-statement, half-question.

"I'm not leaving her to the wolves, I'm not that big an asshole."

"You might not be but by going in yourself and pulling her out, you're going to undermine her credibility as a potential witness."

"That, too." They're going to wonder if she alerted me, if she'd played them all along.

"You're going to taint her."

"With strokes so black they wouldn't think of going near her again."

Jasper sighed. "That still doesn't make you less of an ass."

Between him and Bella, I was just going to get used to being called an ass for the rest of my life.

"How many agents are at the station right now?"

"About twelve."

"Only twelve? We must be losing our touch.."

"There could be more, but I can't be sure."

"You can't?"

"No, I can't. I'm not God, Eddie."

"Really?" I grinned at him. He was always at his crankiest when he couldn't figure out everything right away. "I could've sworn you were."

He shook his head but I could see him smile slightly.

XXX

From the outside, it looked like it was just another ordinary day in Forks' only police precinct. But inside, a palpable tension was in the air as officers waited as the drama involving one of their own unfolded right under their very noses.

The agents in the lobby barely gave me a glance when I walked in. Newbies, I suppose. I passed by three more before an agent recognized me. He stopped talking to a police officer mid-sentence, straightening his back in incredulous surprise.

"Agent Clearwater," I greeted him, trying to keep myself from smirking. "Been a long time."

Eight years ago, the FBI managed to snare me by inserting a pretty girl into my network. The officer in-charge of the whole operation had been a midlevel bureaucrat who had an axe to grind against rich boys he thought didn't deserve the life they'd been living. He'd managed to hit the jackpot with me. From then on, Agent Harry Clearwater had taken care of highly specialized cases. It was a given that he'd head the operation against me once I resumed operations.

Surprise gave way to hostility as the agent recovered. Clearwater and his team had pushed for heavier penalties for my conviction, arguing that I was a danger to society for corrupting minors, conveniently overlooking the fact that I was a minor myself. They moved to try me as an adult by saying that my crimes were adult in scope and that my age was a mere technicality. My battery of lawyers – the best money could buy – didn't think so. In the end, I was given a less stringent sentence.

"Edward Cullen...," his voice was loud enough to carry across the room, and activity ceased in the immediate vicinity. "What brings you here?"

"I live around here." I gave him a tight smile. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

He was silent for a time, probably weighing his options. He knew he couldn't pull me in for questioning without the threat of a harassment suit. If he so much as touched my arm, I'd have my lawyers crawling up his ass and that would effectively hamper his investigation.

"Cut the bullshit, Cullen," he said, "you know why."

"Do I? I was thinking maybe you just missed me."

He wasn't amused. In fact, he looked like he wanted to gut me and string my insides in the open. "Ten highly-priced cars, gone in the blink of an eye. Where are you keeping them?"

Fourteen cars, I corrected him silently, soon to be fifteen.

"You really think I'm going to answer that?"

"No," he said. "No, you won't. But I'll be upfront on this, because we might be seeing more of each other pretty soon. We've managed to get a print from one of the crime scenes and when that goes through, it'll be back to the big house for you."

A print? I breathed in deeply to keep in a snicker. Just who was he kidding? All my drivers were equipped with special gloves and nobody would be stupid enough to leave a fucking print.

"Really?" I managed to sound neutral. "Good luck, then. Maybe this time, you'd actually do some real investigating and not resort to recruiting pretty, young things to do your hard work for you."

He opened his mouth, realized what I meant, then blinked. I could almost hear him wondering how I could possibly have known, running down people who could've alerted me to their investigation.

Did he really think I'd be as ill-prepared for them as I'd been eight years ago? That he could pull the same stunt and I'd let them? No, this time they were going to watch the remaining cars disappear one by one and wring their hands helplessly because there wouldn't be anything they could do about it. I wasn't going to give them the slightest reason so that they could pull me in, but they were going to know. What's more, they were going to watch the one and only chance of getting information walk out of the station with me.

"She's a good girl, Cullen."

"She is, so I suggest you stop harassing her."

The game was over before it even began.

"You didn't get away with it last time, how do you think you're going to get away with it now?"

_Oh, I will, I definitely will,_ _and you can fucking watch me do it._

Out loud, I merely smiled. "Are you done questioning my girlfriend? She has classes early tomorrow. Or maybe you prefer that I call my lawyers and let them handle this?"

XXX

"You okay?"

She jumped at my voice as she hadn't seen me lurking in a corner to wait for her. She looked tired, her face pinched from being under interrogation for several hours. I knew the feeling, having been through several myself.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, glancing around as if people were watching. They were.

"Thought you might need some help."

"They're looking for you."

"I know," I told her, grabbing her elbow gently to lead her out of the precinct. "C'mon, we'll talk in the car."

She looked like she'd refused at first, but allowed me to pull her through the station after a slight hesitation. It might have been disconcerting for her, to be questioned inside the station she practically grew up in. She waited until we were out of the station's line of sight before speaking.

"The things they asked me...," she started. "They told me..."

"I know."

"What?"

"I heard everything."

"Huh?"

"Hacked through the CCTV."

A muffled curse, a hand raked through hair. Somehow, she must've harbored the hope that it wasn't true. "So its –"

"All true, yes."

"Fuck..." she breathed in sharply. "Stop, stop the car."

I turned into a secluded area, parked the car and killed the engine. This was going to take a while.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she tried to calm herself and keep anger at bay – at me, at herself for not figuring things out sooner. She bent down, put her head against her knees, and breathed in and out, trying not to hyperventilate. Straighten up, bend down, sit up again. Start to fidget – bounce her knees, pull her fingers through her hair.

I let her be, sat beside her in silence, preparing myself to ride out her anger.

"How many have you taken?"

I didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Fifteen."

Another curse. "How many more?"

"Five."

"Jesus..." She dropped her hands to her lap and started rubbing her knees out of sheer frustration. Her skirt hiked up, and I could see her knees framed – white lacy skirt above, brown suede boots below.

_Damn._

"You're not going to –"

_Go through with it? _"I am."

Goddammit, her skirt was up, showing midthigh. Flushed cheeks, heavy breathing, slight trembling, hair all messed up – it made me want to hike her skirt higher, pull down her panties and bury myself in her, fuck her into the seat until she clawed against my skin and came screaming my name.

_Fuck._

"Goddammit," she said again and I breathed in and out with her.

"Everything's going to be fine."

"No, it's not. Everything is not going to be fine. Everything was fine before but now it's not fine." She spoke in controlled tones, her rage close to the surface.

"Nothing is going to touch you."

"Touch me?" She looked at me like I just lost my mind. "It just did. Do you have any idea what it was like to sit there, admit that I've been fuck buddies with a prime suspect? Having Charlie know I'd been fucking his parolee behind his back, with dozens of officers listening in? Touch me? Are you insane?"

I let her rage.

"How'd you keep track?"

Ah, yes, that one. She'd heard from the briefing that I was keeping an eye on her the entire time but probably refused to believe it at first. By now, it would have been pretty obvious that I was.

"Phone."

"But I changed phones – "

"Twice, I know. Then you'd come to the house and –"

"Leave them lying around," she finished my sentence. "Dammit."

"Damn," she said again, punctuating the word with a hard thump on the dashboard. "Damn, damn, damn, dammit."

She thought she had everything under control. _Poor baby_.

"Listen, things are going to be all right. They're just going to be rough for a while -"

"Rough?" She gave a bitter laugh before settling in against the seat with a frustrated sigh. "I had everything planned out. Since I was a kid, I'd always known what I wanted to be, what I wanted to do...then you come along and...and... ruin everything."

Well, I couldn't argue with that.

"Just because you can't keep yourself from stealing."

Stealing...such an ugly word.

"They're just cars, sweetheart." Shiny, pretty baubles people put inside their garages and drive around for kicks. After I...get them, their owners forget about them and buy the next "hot" thing.

"Just cars?" she said, her voice rising. "They're not _just _cars, people pay millions for them."

And people who pay millions for toys have millions more in the bank, inside their dressers, in fucking Switzerland. It wouldn't cause a dent, I wanted to tell her, just to rile her further. She really was pretty fucking sexy when angry.

"You know what? You're an idiot, that's what you are. Aren't you supposed to be a fucking genius? What if they catch you?"

"They won't." I wanted to say something more reassuring but I knew that whatever I said would sound like bullshit. "I promise they won't. Everything is under control. Trust me on this."

"Jesus...goddammit...trust you...do I have a choice?"

"You did," I told her. When she first stepped out and announced herself, when her father asked her the first question, when the agents started to detail my crimes. She'd had plenty of choices, but she turned them down, one by one. "But not anymore."

She'd made her decision. Frankly, I suspected she made it sometime ago, before L.A. I just had to make sure.

"Why don't we go somewhere? Go eat pie or something."

She looked at me as if I'd just suggested killing her best friend. "Are you fucking serious?"

She was so panicked that she was missing a lot of things.

"Listen," I tried to keep my voice even, "by now, half of Forks would've known your fall from grace and my involvement." She cursed me again. "The FBI is going to hound you, maybe put a detail on you, but they will not preposition to you again, not if they want to avoid a lawsuit on their heads. Your father is not going to talk to you, not today, maybe not even tomorrow but he will, eventually. What's done is done and there is nothing you or I can do about it now so buckle up, sweetheart, because this is going to take a while."

She glared at me, like she wanted to deck me for suggesting such a thing, then for being right about it. What was coming was going to be painful, at least for her, but the world wasn't going to end because of a minor indiscretion. The sooner she faced things head-on, the better.

I suggested Lou's, as most people there knew her and there was nowhere else to go.

"It would be pretty romantic," I told her, giving her a smile. "A childhood haunt for our first date."

She looked at me like I just soiled myself.

We went through the motions. I opened her door, opened the diner's door like the upright young man that I wasn't. If Jasper was watching, he would have snickered himself to death. Bella, on the other hand, was trying to tone down her glare by keeping her head down, opting instead to clench and unclench her fists and I knew, without being a mind reader, that she was imagining decking me with it.

"Bella, honey!" A handsome, black woman in her thirties greeted her with an exuberant hug. "Haven't seen you around for a while. College keeping you busy, huh?" She turned to me, a welcoming smile on her face and I figured Bella hadn't brought anyone with her to the diner for some time. "And who might this young man be?"

"This is – "

"Edward," I butted in, as smoothly as I could, extending a hand for a shake. "Edward Cullen."

"Cullen...Dr. Cullen's nephew?" An eyebrow rose in vague surprise and the smile turned into something wary. I liked her immediately. "The – "

" – car thief, yes. Ex-thief, actually," I supplied, with an emphasis on the ex, while shaking her hand firmly.

"So you say," she returned, neither amused nor impressed. "So, Edward Cullen, what brings you here to this side of town?"

"Well," I started sheepishly. "I've been in town for several months now and I heard you have some really good pie. It would be a shame if I didn't get to try it."

I looked at Bella as if indicating from whom I'd heard the town trivia, stepped closer to her and nudged her with familiarity. Lou followed my actions with a raised brow and Bella was forced to give her a wan smile.

"I see...," Lou caught on my drift. "Well, in that case, you're in luck. We've just had a batch out of the oven." She turned to Bella, unaware of the glare that was sent my way. "You go sit in your booth, honey, and I'll bring you two some of that pie."

I followed her to the booth and sat next to her. She shifted to the far end of the table, putting herself as far away as she could from me. She was still sulking, her pretty little mouth pulled into a pout, reminding me of her semi tantrums and fits.

"How am I going to talk to Charlie again?" she said quietly, before resting her forehead on the table.

"Give him time, he'll come around."

"And how would you know?" she turned to me, her anger flaring again.

"Because he's your dad, not some FBI lackey."

From what I'd seen, Chief Swan was a decent man, a doting father who'd do anything for his only daughter. Much like my mother had been or my dad. It was one thing Bella and I had in common. We'd both been raised in emotionally-stable families, even if it would appear differently at times.

Besides, I was tempted to tell her, she'd been telling the truth, or what she thought was the truth, and had enough guts to come out with it in the open despite the unavoidable disappointment. That should count for something in Charlie Swan's eyes..

"I should've told him from the start," Bella said, hanging her head in misery. "He would have understood."

I stopped myself from telling her that no, Chief Swan probably wouldn't have. Fathers were rightfully protective of their daughters when it came to me, especially the good ones. But Chief Swan wouldn't have had the heart to tell her "no," either, so he would've remained ambivalent with her choice at best, and uncooperative at worst. Either way, he would've willingly suffered my presence in his daughter's life – and pants – in silence.

But this was a fuck-up of her own making, the consequence of her own misguided decision, and it was in everyone's best interests that it should play out as intended. She had to come to terms with the fact that she'd crossed the line beyond narrow career dreams and raising 2.4 kids in houses with white picket fences, even if she hadn't completely abdicated on her upright citizen and model daughter ways. Chief Swan had to grapple with the fact that his daughter would probably never be like he was as she was _never _like him in the first place. She had his best qualities – grounded, methodical, loyal to a fault – but she also had her own – passionate, wild, even reckless. With me, she could be both.

I didn't dare touch her anywhere except her hair, smoothing out the wisps and tendrils that fell on her face, giving her the little space the dining booth afforded her. She'd flinch and swatted my hand away but didn't kick me out, although she'd give me a look that said she really, really wanted to. As much as she hated me at the moment, I was the only one who understood what was happening. She needed me there, even if all I could do was tell her something her mind refused to understand.

_It's going to be all right._

I said it over and over, as sincerely as I could. There was little else I could do.

At some point, she calmed herself long enough to look at me with less derision and anger and I knew she was trying to think again. But all she did was give me a jerky nod and turned to the diner's glass windows, preferring the nothingness outside instead of the comfort I was trying to give her.

She sat in silence, – sad, angry, scared, conflicted and miserable. I could almost hear the wheels in her brain turn – mentally rearranging her world according to importance – putting Charlie first, her extended family, her friends, the FBI and everyone else. She'd put me last, knowing instinctively that I was the least of her worries.

I would've put my arms around her if I wasn't sure she would bite my head off.

So I let her brood and sulk, while I ate the rapidly cooling pie. It really was good, just like she said. The place warm and cozy, the air heavy with the scent of newly baked pie. Except for an odd head or two, most people in the diner had stared their fill and had gone back to minding their own business, leaving us alone.

All in all, things couldn't have turned out any better than I expected them to. Granted, Bella wasn't talking to me but she also wasn't telling me to scram and stick my dick somewhere else.

Which was just as well, since I wasn't going anywhere.

**XXX**

**I'm posting a teaser after this chapter. It's NOT A CHAPTER. It's for an outtake I wrote for the foxyfics collection. So you don't have to leave me a review or something but if you do, I will kiss you for it. :)**

**So, how do you think things will go for E and B from here? I feel like I should've put a warning on top to warn readers that this chapter DOES NOT contain smut. LOL. But the outtake does. ;P  
**


	16. Needles, an outtake

**NEEDLES **

**A Ride outtake, set pre-LA**

**Summary: It's Wednesday and Bella's not feeling well.**

**Warning: Do not try this at home, unless you know what you're doing.**

**Written for my beta Maylin (dihenydd), one of my dearest and earliest friends in the fandom, for the foxyfics collection. She** **lost her mom to Parkinson's Disease last year. Thanks to all who donated!**

**XXX**

"Long day?" Edward asked me as soon as I got inside the car. It was back to the Alfa Romeo, and the car stuck out like a sore thumb in the student's parking lot.

I answered with a grunt. "Long" is an understatement. Getting up at dawn to a cranky room mate who spent a full hour in the bathroom while I had to keep my pee in; rushing through breakfast after I remembered that I had to be at the library to work on an overdue paper; three hours of listening to boring accounts of garden-type killers in the nineteenth century; two hours of exams I'd studied for the entire night only to find the simplest, most idiotic questions – all the while resenting the fact that it was Wednesday.

I had so much to do on a Wednesday. Shitloads of shit so I really shouldn't be taking off to nowhere just three days from the beginning of the week. I had a routine. I had deadlines. I needed to be at a class early on Thursday but I'd never be able to drag myself out of a bed with him in it. But if I didn't show up at the parking lot at four pm like he'd told me to, I'd be fucking horny and miserable by Thursday; and horny plus miserable wasn't a good combination. I'd be cranky and distracted and at some point, I'd pick a fight with Rosalie. I'd end up miserable for the rest of the week.

There was no point in pretending that everything would be perfectly fine if I said no and he left me in front of my building and went back to Forks or wherever he went between our trysts. Or wasn't it our trysts that were in between something? A fleeting distraction to relieve the boredom of being stuck in idyllic-but-glamour-challenged Forks?

Fuck it, fuck him. I'd just had the shittiest of days and was in no shape to contemplate the meaning of what we were doing.

"Headache," I told him, half-expecting to get booted out of the car. Wasn't that the most overused excuse against sex? I have a headache so I can't be bothered to suck your dick?

He said nothing. Instead, he pulled out from the lot, turned off the music he'd been listening to and with a free hand, adjusted my seat so I could recline and rest my head more comfortably.

"You want to eat something?" he asked as soon as we hit the highway and I wanted to tell him something cranky, or annoying, or whatever. But he looked so concerned, blast him, that I almost felt guilty for not being in shape.

"Pizza?"

I would've said pie, as lemon pie always seemed to put me in a better mood every time I felt cranky. I'd had pie after some really shitty days since kindergarten, but I could hardly ask him for something so childish. Besides, who eats pie for dinner? Hence, pizza it was. Then I remembered that dinner was usually already prepared when we arrived. I was about to tell him not to bother but he was already on the phone, talking to someone.

"Can you scrap dinner?...no, just put them away and have some pizza sent over.." So he had someone cook something, probably fancy, and I just went and had it trashed, which kind of made me feel more guilty. "And can you have Chelsea bring over some pie?...no, lemon...yes, that'll do..."

It was unsettling how he knew exactly what to do from the bits and pieces of information that I'd told him when we were lucid. It was more unsettling that I was starting to expect it from him.

He was silent throughout the drive and it was oddly comfortable, even though he still drove like a bat out of hell. Once in the house, he led me to the bedroom and told me to lie down. There was no pressure, no stress, no unwarranted groping. Just him, me and the soothing sound of the sea drifting in from the open windows.

I lay down on the bed – our bed – which amazingly smelled like him, as if he'd lain down there recently.

"Try to relax," he told me, moving around the room. "Pizza won't be here for a while."

Lulled by his scent on the sheets, I was starting to do just what he ordered when the cloying smell of alcohol reached me. Opening my eyes, I saw him sitting next to me in bed, holding a black case with what looked like Chinese inscriptions. Inside the case were needles so thin they could easily fit inside a hypodermic needle.

Alarmed, I sat up and moved away to the other side of the bed abruptly, adding a couple of jackhammers to the pounding inside my head. "What are those?"

"Needles."

"I could see that. What're they for?"

"Acupuncture, for relieving stress and headaches."

They were also pointy, sharp and looked really, really painful.

"I don't like needles," I told him, keeping my voice steady. "Don't like" was mild to describe what I felt at seeing the damned things. I was fucking scared of them.

He pulled one – almost four inches in length – and showed it to me. The bronze needle glinted against the afternoon sun menacingly.

"It'll take just one teeny, tiny needle to cure your headache."

"Get that thing away from me."

"It's painless," he cajoled, "you won't feel a thing."

A horrible image of myself with needles sticking out of my head, like a human porcupine with metal spikes, flashed through my terrorized brain.

"No way."

"I've done this before, it's safe."

Said the man who refused to drive under a hundred kilometers per hour.

"I don't like needles."

"You don't have to like them. Just sit back," he patted the spot next to him, "and relax."

"No."

There was no way he was talking me into this.

"It won't hurt, I promise. All you'll feel is a little pinch as the needle goes in."

If he thought that telling me it wouldn't hurt as it "went in" was going to calm me, he was dead wrong.

"Dammit, I said I don't like them."

He laughed, amused.

"All right, all right," he said and put the needle back inside the case. "Not now."

"Not ever," I clarified. What if he sticks one in my head while I'm sleeping? He didn't have any qualms sticking his cock inside me while I was barely awake, why not a teeny, tiny needle?

"I promise I won't stick one in you while you're sleeping," he said, smirking. "Just sit down and try to relax, you're making your headache worse."

He was right but I'd be damned if I gave him an inch. "Put those things away first."

He laughed again, raised his hands and made an exaggerated show of closing the case and putting it inside one of the side table drawers.

"There. Now will you get back here and lie down?"

Only when I was sure he wouldn't pull one on me did I go near him. He sat at the edge of the bed and took my hand, turned it over and squeezing gently. I was starting to think that it was kind of sweet – but ultimately useless – of him to hold my hand against a headache when he held his thumb and forefinger against the spot between my thumb and forefinger and gave a hard, painful pinch.

"Aw, you jerk, that hurts!"

"Hush...this won't take long."

"What are you doing?"

"Acupressure...not as fast as with needles, but it'll work."

"It hurts, dammit."

"It's supposed to hurt, unlike when done with the needles...is it easing?"

It was, damn him. I could barely feel my head pounding due to the dull pain on my hand."That's because you're pinching me too hard."

He laughed again. "I am not pinching you."

He wasn't, just pressing the area near my palm firmly– the adductor policis – he told me.

"It's connected to the radial artery, the one the keeps your pulse beating, it'll send signals to have blood rushed to the brain."

Divert the flow of energy, yada, yada, yada. It wasn't that I didn't want to hear him explain but I was too busy trying to decide if the pain in my hand was more preferable to the pain in my head.

Amazingly, the throbbing began to ease a little."How do you know these things?"

"Read about it here and there," he shrugged. "It's just basic acupuncture, nothing fancy. There were some books about it in the prison library and some of the guys managed to make needles from guitar strings."

"Really?" It would be just like him – to learn something entirely new and strange for the sake of it. "Who did you practise it on? Your Russian cellmate?"

"Sergei? Fuck, no."He laughed out loud, obviously finding the thought ludicrous but didn't explain to me why. "I practiced on myself."

"Wasn't that dangerous?"

"Not really. It's not that hard. All you have to know is where the meridians and acupuncture points are, insert the needles, play with them for a while – "

"Play with needles? While they're stuck in you?" That didn't sound very scientific. In fact, it sounded downright insane.

"It's based on traditional Eastern philosophy, not on evidence-based science or modern anatomy but it's quick and it works. I could hardly run to the warden every time I had a splitting headache, might be mistaken for a sissy."

I could just imagine, pretty rich boy like him. So he had headaches, which explained the need for needles in prison, but I bet he hadn't kept them strictly for medical purposes.

"I didn't kill anyone with them," he chuckled, as if he could read my mind. "The wardens would've confiscated them if they knew I had them."

I gave him a look that said I rest my case.

"You know, some of the points have very specific uses," he told me, rolling me so I faced down, lying on my stomach. "Keep still."

"No – no needles..."

He laughed again. "Scaredy-cat."

The bed dipped as he climbed in and it didn't take long before fingertips began applying steady, moderate pressure between the base of my neck down to my shoulders. Bit by bit, I started to relax, feeling my headache start to melt away.

"Good?"

I managed to mumble my appreciation, burrowing further into the pillows, allowing him to twist me like a rag doll as he reached for the hem of my shirt and puledl it over my head. His fingers were soothing, keeping in tune with my breathing. He continued to talk, about points and pressure and whatever and I was just starting to drift away in contented bliss, lulled by his hands and his voice, when I felt it – a bare, whispery kiss on my neck, punctuated with a firm press on the base of my spine. I jolted, as if electrocuted, as a different sensation overrode the pain in my head. Blood rushed downwards and I was suddenly, very, very, awake.

It felt something like the rush when he sucked a breast and suddenly bit on a nipple – part pain, part surprise, pure sensation – only more intense as it was unexpected.

"What-"

"Shhh..." A hand pushed me down, holding me in place as he worked his fingers deeper. "Relax."

So I lay there, on my stomach, intensely curious.

His hands landed on my shoulders again, and proceeded to press and knead methodically, and my eyes to rolled in pure, unadulterated pleasure. He pulled off my pants, leaving me in my undies. Fingers slid down to my back, down to my ass, searching – and finding – the little pressure points with ease. My body hummed from the attention but I didn't dare move an inch. Seemingly unresponsive, I let myself drown in a little solipsistic world of pleasure, keeping my eyes closed and my body slack.

Hands and fingers did the work with almost clinical precision, working out kinks and knots I didn't know I had, pushing me into a comfortable, languid zone where my body floated in relaxed bliss. But just when I start to drift off to sleep, he'd press on a point and jolt me again. Tongue and lips would follow, drumming out an almost imperceptible intensification, until, finally, a long, ragged moan escaped me.

"How's the headache?" He breathed heavily against my ear, his voice husky.

I dragged myself to the surface and gave him an incoherent 'mmmm-hmmmm,' giving him no outward signals that I was close, his mere touch setting off a barrage of sensations enough to shut down half of my brain. His hands continued to stroke, caress, press and knead, from my ass to the soles of my feet and up again, teasing the inside of my thighs. Then, as if by accident, his knuckles brushed on the side of my clit, above my panties. Once, and then again, pressing down a little. I opened my legs, giving him wider access. He breathed in sharply as he encountered wetness, before slipping his hand under the fabric and inserting a finger –

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groaned before shifting, lying next to me so my back was slightly against his. He put an arm around my shoulder, holding me in place. His other hand remained on my pussy and without missing a beat, he slipped in a digit. His fingers started to fuck me as his mouth latched on to the base of my neck. Two, then three digits, keeping to the rhythm of my tremors. His leg trapped mine, pinning me to the bed so I couldn't move.

Unable to stop my body from shaking, I whimpered. "Oh, God..."

"Shhh..."

I knew what he was doing, what he was capable of...build up the exhilarating, almost painful pressure until it became almost a force that could knock me out.

"Edward...," I pleaded.

His only answer was to suck harder, hold on tighter. His fingers inside me, steadily building the pressure until I all but begged him to fuck me.

"Oh, God."

He dropped the arm holding me against his chest, groped for a spot below my navel, somewhere near my hipbone, and with two of his fingers, pressed down.

Hard.

I bucked, a wordless scream tearing from my mouth. Bolts of electricity coursed through my body, burning paths from my pussy to my lungs, my head, to the tips of my toes and fingers. For the longest moment, I couldn't breath, couldn't move as I drowned in an overload of sensations. I started shaking, and couldn't stop. I burned, from inside out, excruciating sensations my mind fail to describe.

Just when I thought my lungs would burst, my instincts kicked in. Flailing an arm, I managed to break his hold and screamed as tremors wracked my entire body.

_Oh, God...oh, my God, oh God, oh, God...oh, my God..._

Seconds, minutes passed before I could control my body. It was only when I stopped shaking that I realized his hands were no longer on me and that save for my breathing, everything was quiet and strangely still.

I turned to him and saw that he was rolled to his back, like the wind had just been knocked out of him.

"Edward?"

Eyes squeezed tight, he looked like he was in so much pain.

Fuck. Did I hit him that hard?

"Pants..," he gritted out, "pants..."

He was rock hard. Rock. Hard. With shaking fingers, I zipped him out, springing him from the confines of his jeans. His cock stood out, its veins throbbing angrily. I loved his cock. It's incredible and unique and had always pleased me, but this time it was just a little different. He rammed it into me with hesitation or apology. There was no give, no flexibility. He was so focused that when he fucked me I was immediately riding that wave between pleasure and pain. His swollen head was pounding into me and I didn't even bother to hold my screams in.

"Like that, baby?"

"Want it hard?"

"That feel good?"

"Faster?"

"Fucking good, yeah?"

"Gonna fuck you hard..."

When he cummed, I watched his his face contort in pain and pleasure. Hissing and cursing, his fingers dug deep into my shoulders as I writhed and cried and trashed under him.

He didn't pull out, even after his cock stopped pumping cum. He just shifted slightly to pull his shirt over his head before kicking his pants out of the way.

Without missing a beat, he started rocking to a lazy, steady tempo, rebuilding the pressure from the high. He'd done it before; fuck me steadily without breaking. He could cum twice, even thrice without pulling out, driving me crazy.

It's just like dancing, he'd told me once. It's all in the leading.

His hands groped with purpose, his fingers finding their way on sensitive places. The base of the throat, between breasts, behind the knee. He hiked my legs higher, bringing ankles against his shoulders, pressing that spot at the base of the sole, sending signals from sensitized points to my brain and I drowned in mindless pleasure. He kept asking me to change positions – on my back, riding him, behind me, riding him again, on my back again, doggy style with my head and shoulders down low.

I didn't even know how many times I came. I did know that I gushed so much that I soaked him and the sheets under us. When he came I felt it so deep inside me I thought I would explode from the impact.

When it was over, I lay quietly beside him with my legs trembling, my throat hoarse from screaming, my body slick with sweat, cum and saliva.

"You okay, baby?"

"I'm good," I croaked. Apart from my throat, I felt fine, even a little energized.

He tucked me under his chin and let me semi-sprawl against him. Earlier on, it had been quite a surprise to discover that Edward Cullen, criminal genius, was a shameless cuddler. He favored certain positions, the ones where he could slip his cock into me the easiest and rock himself into a frenzy. It wasn't unusual to wake up in the morning and find him inside me, groaning and moaning to himself how fucking good I felt, how goddamned tight, how he loved fucking me and would I like some fucking breakfast?

"Tired?" I smirked at him when his breathing started to normalize. It had never happened before, him dropping off before me.

"A little," he lied, obviously exhausted. "But that was good, yeah?"

It was better than good. It was fucking amazing and if I wasn't sure he'd take it as a brazen invitation to start fucking again, I would've told him that. So I lay there instead, lightly touching him – his cheeks, the slight stubble on his jaw, his lips, through his hair and behind his ears – lulling him to sleep. He started to nod off at some point and I was about to roll out of bed and look for something to eat when he jerked himself awake and stopped me.

"Stay," he told me. "Please."

I told him I was just going to get something to eat, as I didn't know what happened to the pizza he ordered but a tug, another please, and I was back in bed with him.

"I've never seen you sleep," I mused when his eyes drifted shut after a few minutes.

"I don't," he answered, taking a deep breath and moving his legs against mine, shifting for a more comfortable position. "Not when I'm with you."

"That's ridiculous."

He just laughed again and with eyes closed, began rubbing himself all over me.

"How could I sleep with this around?" he purred, gently kneading my breasts, before dropping his hands to my ass. His lips started moving down, burning a trail on my neck, finding a nipple then the other, nipping, sucking...gently at first then harder and harder until I cried out, my back arching.

"Dammit, Edward!"

He loved leaving marks all over my body, loved to make me squirm and giggle under him while he did. Most times, he'd suck and bite when I was awake but it wasn't a surprise to wake up some mornings to find bite marks I couldn't remember him making.

"Stop fucking around."

Limbs and legs and elbows sufficiently entwined, he stopped moving, pinning me under him. Looking at our bodies, I wondered how far I'd come from the insecure, frigid "bitch" I'd been so convinced I was. He made me forget all my insecurities when we're together, the glaring imperfections that almost always came to the fore when I was in a room full of people with my clothes on. Naked with him, I felt completely comfortable, confident...sexy.

I didn't realize I was staring at him until he laughed down at me, boyish and carefee, like he knew exactly what I was thinking and was daring me to say it...say it out loud.

Sometimes, I hated how perceptive he was.

"What?"

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

He'd asked me this before and I'd always refused to answer. Nakedness I could handle. Dirty talk I liked. But compliments without the moaning and cursing? Nothing made me more uncomfortable.

I looked away, feeling a different kind of burn. If he noticed the sudden mood shift, he didn't comment on it, only chuckled and burrowed into my neck again. The moment was broken, which was just as well. It never did anyone any good to try to rationalize about things that didn't make sense. There were other more urgent things to think about...like what kind of other perverse and unscientific methods he could possibly come up with if I stayed every night.

"You know, you could've just given me an Advil." I told him. I would never have consented to all that pressing and pinching if I wasn't so squeamish about needles. Somehow, the jerk had tricked me into something again.

He started to laugh, low and delicious, his body sending tremors against my oversensitive skin.

"I know," he conceded, "but where would've been the fun in that?"

"You are such an ass."

"So I've been told," he snorted. "Although under less pleasant circumstances."

He could be so goddamned charming when he was being cocky that it was impossible to even pretend to be grouchy with him.

"So...pressure points...I assume you have them," I said.

He lifted his head at my words, suddenly very awake.

"I do, yeah," he answered, looking at me intently. "I found them myself."

"Really?"

"Wanna know where they are?"

He looked so hopeful it was hard to even tease him that I didn't.

"I thought you were tired."

He shook his head, once, then twice, more vigorously.

"Not anymore."

**XXX**

**Trufax: One can really fashion acuneedles from guitar strings. And they really are good for headaches...among other things. **

**Love and review. If you already did, do it again! I will give you the smoochies.  
**


	17. Chapter 17

**HOLA. I KNOW. It's been three months since the last update. Sorry 'bout that. **

**BUT.. **

**I uploaded the entire Needles outtake last month so if you haven't read that yet, go back a chapter (Chapter 16) and read that first. Leave some love, too, because Ride is on its last lap, so to speak. We're nearly at the finish line and Ride will bow out for other, more interesting stories out there. It's been fun and I've had a blast writing this story and everyone's been so kind and forgiving of my faults and plot holes. Thank you, all, for your reviews, PMs, tweets, recs, words of encouragement and squees. Those who put this story on alerts and favorites, you who waited patiently for an update, from the bottom of my little heart, ****THANK YOU** **for not giving up on me and this little smutty story. **

** Thanks to Rachel (wime09) for prereading and all the girls who never stopped bugging, er, encouraging me for an update. Thank you for still reading.  
**

**XXX**

Charlie was furious. I didn't only make a fool out of myself, I made a fool out of him.

_"What we're you thinking?" _he'd asked.

To be honest, I was thinking I could get away with it – scratch an itch without harming anyone, except maybe myself. I'd tried to wheedle my way out of his anger, telling him I'd planned on saying something to him before the Feds blew everything out of proportion. He'd given me a level stare then, and told me he knew me well enough to know that if I didn't tell me at the first instance, then I had no intention of telling him at all. He then proceeded to deconstruct my reasons, pointing out how faulty each of my decisions had been, grounding my excuses with logic and common sense. He was relentless without being cruel, exacting the whens and wheres of my relationship with Edward far better than the Feds ever did. He skipped the sordid parts, thank fucking God, as I didn't know if I could be able to bring myself to tell him. When it came to the part when I tried to explain to him that I just didn't want to do what Mom did, he'd all but exploded.

_ "I raised you, Isabella. Not Renee, not anyone else. What has she got to do with anything?"_

I'd hung my head in shame as I ran out of excuses.

_ "I know you'd be responsible and protect yourself but...Edward Cullen? Bella, the man is a sociopath. He's not like the petty lowlifes we have here in Forks." _

Yes, Edward Cullen was unstable, unhinged, completely unsalvageable. But then, so was I. How else could I explain the things I've done with him, and for him, so far? There were so many times I could have said no, refused his games and innuendo, but I didn't. No, I couldn't lay everything out on him. I knew he'd never be that upright, law-abiding citizen every parent wanted their little girls to end up with. Sociopaths didn't change overnight. They didn't change, period. In a way, I was a willing accomplice.

_ "It worries me that you'd find his sort of life attractive."  
_

I didn't, I'd assured Charlie. It wasn't Edward's lifestyle that fascinated me, it was the man himself. We were polar opposites, given our backgrounds and the worlds we moved in, and I had no intention of trading mine for his. But strip away all the externalities, we were frighteningly similar – our wants and needs, our predilections.

Charlie hadn't liked it but there was nothing he could do. What was done was done. I didn't commit any crime, except sleep with a man who didn't have his trust. That, per se, wasn't so much of an affront, either. Charlie had always trusted me to make my own decisions, even the wrong ones. But the least I could have done was be honest about it, as he'd always been with me.

He didn't say out loud but his anger came from how hurt he was. The humiliation he could stand, the disappointment he could get over. But it would take a while before he could forget the fact that I didn't trust him enough with something so important. Instead, I shut him out, dismissed his opinion by not asking for it and treated him as someone who didn't know and wouldn't understand. That, for him, was my ultimate betrayal. He was my father first. Being cop came in a distant second.

I couldn't tell him enough how sorry I was.

Dealing with Edward was less complicated.

_ "Fix it, fix this,"_ I'd told him at the diner. _"Until you do, don't touch me, don't talk to me, don't even __come near me."_

I was in enough trouble on my own. I refused to be dragged further into his.

He'd merely smiled, then, and told me that he wouldn't be around much, in any case. He'd been invited by the New York Philharmonic for several performances, he'd said, so he was packing his bags that same day. He would've told me at L.A but he got distracted and there wasn't enough time. He would've loved to have me with him but he understood that it would take more than a couple of skipped classes to fly to the other side of the continent. He'd miss me, that's for sure, but a few weeks apart wouldn't be so bad. It would do us good to have things blow over for a while. He understood I needed a little space to digest what he'd just dropped on me. It would give Charlie some time, too, to get used to the fact that we were together, without rubbing our "involvement" in his face.

He was, of course, lying. I'd find out later that New York hosted several Veyrons and his stint with the orchestra coincided neatly with the timetable he'd set on boosting them.

It didn't matter. I told myself he wasn't my problem. I could've told the FBI what I knew but who was I kidding? They probably knew as much as I did already. Besides, I've no doubt the Feds would've alerted all remaining Veyron owners, put a 24-hour detail on the cars and staked out the areas where they'd expect him to strike.

And strike he did. Relentlessly. One by one the remaining Veyrons disappeared. One moment the car was there, gone the next. The thefts made big news due to the sheer audacity of the thieves. The local police hounded one suspect after another and came up with nothing. They couldn't establish a timeline and pinpoint at what hour the car was stolen. Without a proper timeline, they couldn't narrow down their suspects or decide which of them had sufficient alibis. It didn't help that most of their suspects were high profile personalities – celebrities, socialites, progenies of who's who – all related, and at some point, persons of interest, in Edward Cullen's case.

There were no leads, no solid evidence except for a set of incomplete prints in one of the security cameras where the last of the Veyrons went missing. If I didn't know just how devious Edward could be, I would've believed that there was a chance that they were going to get him. But I did, so I knew that the prints were there for the sole reason that he left them there, probably as a prank, a childish taunt to Feds.

Being the prime suspect, he was forced to stay in New York for the duration of the investigation. He shied away from the attention, preferring to get on with his commitments to the orchestra with minimum fanfare. He socialized witth the nation's upper classes only in the most controlled and exclusive settings, keeping up the profile of a mysterious but dedicated artist, reformed from his wayward ways.

The entire debacle was absorbing, a source of endless speculation and drama, and I was completely riveted

I followed his whereabouts like a deranged fangirl. There was nothing better to do, anyway. Without Edward's shenanigans, my days crawled by slowly, uneventfully and the sheer dullnes that was my life weighed on me. I never noticed how debilitatingly boring Evergreen was until then, with its predictable schedules and monotonous routines. But there were days when a restless energy would creep inside me, crawl on top of my skin and twist my insides to the point of pain. There would be times when I'd wake up in the middle of the night, cold and shivering, my hand between my legs, gasping, sometimes screaming his name. Sometimes, the feeling would hit me even during the day and no amount of self-gratification could get me off.

I'd long stopped denying what Edward had known all along. I was addicted to him; hooked to a manipulative bastard who had no conscience and no hope for reform. It didn't help that everything reminded me of him. A cup of coffee, a box of jasmine tea, the scent of a cigarette, a quiet tinkling of piano keys drifting from someone else's window...

I could've ended it that day in the diner. I could've told him that we were over, that I didn't want to have to do anything with his lying ass. I didn't. Worse, I seemed to have given him exactly what he wanted – enough time to pull his heist without me as a distraction. As the days went by, frustrations the urge to hop on the plane to New York grew stronger and it was only my deep respect for Charlie that stopped me. Otherwise, I wouldn't have managed to preserve what was left of my dignity.

In any case, I have no doubt I'd lose it soon enough. I knew that the moment Edward was back, I'd throw caution to the wind in exchange for a wild night with him. . .

He came on a Friday, after my last class of the day. The man who'd been wanted in several states stood in a corner of my building, looking like he just rolled out of bed. Sporting a two-day stubble, his hair was disheveled as always. The bottom buttons of his jacket sleeves were open, and so were his shirt cuffs. The collar of his shirt was frayed, as if deliberately. He had that chic look of the rich, those who didn't have to stick to the etiquette of polite society; those who could afford to be imperfect. Arms crossed, looking like he had nothing better to do but hang around small college buildings, he exuded a nonchalance that couldn't be learned, one that come only with experience.

He looked good, better than good, and every conflicted emotion I had about him resurfaced inside me.

"You look good," he greeted me, unwittingly mirroring my thoughts. His voice washed over me, like the first drops of summer rain, and I could feel my resistance crumble. The urge to jump him rushed to the fore, uncaring that we were in the middle of the hallway, in front of about a hundred Evergreen students.

"What are you doing here?" Without meaning to, the question came out as gruff, angry and he took a second to stare at me, trying to read my expression.

Unfurling his length from the wall, he gripped my right arm and started to lead me away.

"Walk with me," he said, giving me a paper he had rolled under his other arm. It was The New York Times, opened into one of the inside pages. It was dated the day before and carried inside it a short write-up.

**Charges dropped against NYPhilharmonic pianist**

The words "grand theft" and "insufficient evidence" leapt at me from the page.

_ Four fingerprints were lifted from Brooke's time-delay security systems inside the 21-car garage in White Plains, NY. The entire system was compromised, believed to be tampered with discreetly. Two of the fingerprints were insufficient for comparison, the third was identified as not belonging to Cullen and the fourth was not of sufficient quality to include or exclude Cullen. Police did not attempt to lift prints from any of the other cars and the investigation was dropped as Brooke refuses to file charges._

It wasn't news to me. I'd known it the minute one of his lawyers announced on national TV that "Edward Cullen is no longer a suspect." Aside from the lack of evidence, most of the Veyron owners failed to press serious charges. Some, like Brooke, refused to file any, at all. Apparently, being stolen from by Edward Cullen carried a status by itself, especially among car aficionados. The FBI didn't have anything to hold him in New York.

I handed him back the paper. "What happens now?"

"That's up to you," he answered. I'd been busy skimming the paper that I didn't notice we were already at his car, a Porsche Carrera, black on black. He opened the door, and started to pull me inside.

"Wait...where are we going?"

"You'll see..."

**XXX**

I'd flown out of New York the minute I could like some lovesick puppy, too damn horny to think of anything else but a girl who'd managed to invade my every thought. I'd endured days, weeks of abstinence by thinking up the ways I could fuck her, waiting for that day when I could look at her at the eye and strip away all her remaining excuses.

I took her to the Foss Harbor marina, just a couple of minutes from downtown Tacoma. Carmen had the foresight to buy a boat and dock it somewhere close, knowing my preference for enclosed, quiet places.

I led her to the landing to open the steel door and pushed her in. She'd resisted at first but I managed to persuage her. I'd known she wouldn't last long, she needed this as much as I did.

"It's nice...," she said, lying. The place was a garrison, with Jasper's state of art security systems, but she wouldn't know that as all sensors, even the cameras, were concealed behind the thin walls. She wouldn't have the opportunity either, because the moment door was sealed, I was all over her.

"Whoa!"

Vaguely, I register the sound of fabric tearing and I didn't know or care if it was her blouse or my shirt. All those nights of watching her closely in a 9.7 inch display, jacking off as she touched herself, moaning my name, it couldn't stand to the real, squirming body I had against mine. I was desperate for a taste, to feel her against me and breathe in her scent. I pushed her bra to one side to bite on her tits, one hand yanking on her jeans.

"Slow down, dammit!"

I knew every inch of her body, every curve, every zone. I knew where to touch to make her wet, where to make her moan, sweat, scream my name. But fuck it all, we were skipping the preliminaries.

"Jesus...ah...fuck, Edward! Easy...ah...slow down..."

She hissed as my fingers slipped in between her panties and the apex of her thighs, pressing hard against her already tight bundle of nerves, teasing little circles over her clit, working the nub, harder and tighter. Her eyelids shut heavily and her head fell back against the door as the last of her resistance fading away.

"Oh, God..."

She reached up and slammed the flat of her hand against the door as pleasure took over and she thrust against my probing fingers, teasing the release out of her. The moment she slumped against me, I pulled her to the stateroom and into the bed, pushing the rest of her clothes out of the way. It was all happening too fast, too hard but it couldn't stop, couldn't think.

"Hold on to something, baby."

Before she could say "slow down" again, I had her on her arms and knees. Gripping her hips, I rammed into her and started pounding none too gently. She clung to the headboard for dear life, locking both hands around a bedpost for leverage, lest she get slammed straight into the wall.

Hands leaving bruises as they dug into her flesh; I withdrew almost completely and slammed every inch back in roughly, sheathing myself to the hilt, making her shriek. I pushed her down on the mattress, shoved her thighs as far apart as they would go, leaned down over her back, and proceeded to fuck the hell out of her.

The bedframe shook, the mattress sliding to one side. She held on to the lower end and pushed her hips up, offering herself to me and I was more than happy to oblige her. Reaching under her, I lifted her up a bit, my hands splayed across her chest, holding her up as I pounded into her. The angle was _perfect_, and the instant I touched her clit, she arched back against me and came, the scream dying on her lips even as a second orgasm washed over her.

Pulling out, I flipped her over, and slammed right back into her tight, willing body. She wrapped her legs around my waist, taking me as deep as she could, and dug her fingernails into my back, leaving bleeding cuts that would sting like hell in the morning.

"Harder," she gasped, and bit into my shoulder. "More!"

I let go, thrusting into her with every ounce of strength I had, the sheer force sliding her back across the bed a few inches every time. I bent down to bite harshly at her hard nipples, loving the sounds she made, the way she arched up to offer her tits to me,over and over and over, as fast as I could go, tearing one orgasms after another. It didn't take long before I felt it...the tension, like a dam filled to the point of bursting and then I was burning, air leaving my lungs so fast I felt like I was dying.

"Fuck!" My lungs cooperated as air rushed in and I collapsed into her, shaking, slipping out of her before I was even done, making a mess on the sheets and on her body. It had just been too fucking long.

"You okay?" I asked her some time later, my head against on her breasts, her hands stroking shakily through my hair, her legs draped over mine.

"Mmmmfine," she mumbled. "Little sore."

"Want a bath?" The room looked like a tornado went through it, with the mattress on one side and pillows scattered on the floor.

"Ten minutes." Her eyes drifting shut, and I nudged her gently.

"Five."

We weren't done yet. Not by a long shot.

We fucked on the floor, on the table, even against the wall at some point. I fucked her as she came, fucked her as her pussy began milking my cock with spasms. She felt so good, her cunt so tight that I could hardly keep myself from coming all over her everytime I stuck my dick into her.

I fucked her through every orgasm, as she'd start to come down, getting her high again. I watched my cock slide in and out on the slippery slickness of her cunt, watched her tits bounce with every thrust. I had her legs up in the air, her ankles against my shoulder, listened to her moans and screams of oh, God, fuck, fuck, fuck, Edward...

I missed her. I missed my girl. She fucking missed me, too.

We made it to the bath eventually. I watched as warm water enclosed her body as she lowered herself slowly. Long legs, creamy thighs, hips with burgeoning bruises. Her tits were red and raw, and she hissed as water hit them.

"This is nice," she murmured when she finally managed to submerge herself.

"I know what's nicer," I told her as I joined her inside the tub. Turning her around so she faced me, I put her knees against my thighs. I gripped her hips and positioned her over my cock. Clutching on my shoulders, her mouth opened into a soundless moan as inch by inch, I slid into her again.

"Edward..."

"Shhh..." With her body pressed against mine, I could feel every breathe, every tremor run through her. She tensed as I shifted, every muscle locking in place. I could feel her contract around me, then slowly adjust to my size. She gasped again as I moved experimentally, careful not to bruise her already throbbing clit. She leaned back slowly, tilting her head as she concentrated on how I felt inside her, her eyes drifitng shut...

"Open you eyes, sweetheart...," I murmured to her, enjoying her exhalations, her gasps, the shivers she couldn't contain. Slowly, her breathing came down again and she reached back and wrapped her arms around my neck, touching her forehead to mine.

I gripped her hips under the water and pulled her up, controlling her movements. Water lapped against her back and around her breasts as we found the right rhythm. Her body undulated against mine and I matched her, muscle against muscle. Her hands pulled on my hair as she came; her lips parting into a silent moan. Her eyes, so brown they were almost black, stared straight into me and deargod, it felt good, so fucking good to hold her, to be surrounded by her warmth.

Near dawn, she slipped into deep, exhausted sleep and I stirred the course to take us out to sea. She usually slept the day away after a wild ride, giving me enough time to do whatever I wanted. She wasn't going to like waking up in the middle of nowhere, but I wasn't taking chances. We needed to talk, and I didn't want her running away from me.

She woke up, ten hours later.

"Where are we?"

"Couple of miles off the coast."

"Fuck!" She scrambled off the bed, groaning as her muscles protested. She spied her bag on the floor, picked it up and started rummaging inside. It didn't occur to her that she was gloriously naked, and when she bent down, offered her ass to me. Looking at her, I decided to shock her out of bed more often. "Where's my phone? I have to call Charlie."

I had it and I wasn't giving it back. The phone was useless, anyway. We were keeping under the radar so I had Jasper block all radio signals within a ten mile radius around the boat. The only way she could send a message out was through me.

"Don't worry about him, I already left a message."

She spotted her pants, and some of her underwear and was on the process of putting them on. She stopped at my words and turned to me, her eyes narrowing. "What did you tell him?"

"Something that you should have told him weeks ago."

"Charlie and I already talked," she said defensively, unaware how much she was prancing around almost naked.

"And you didn't tell him you were still seeing me. When you said I have to fix things up, I assumed you'd be fixing yours."

"You call getting away with ten counts of car theft "fixing things up?" She stopped in the middle of putting on her torn shirt, her eyes blazing. "The FBI will come after you until the statutes of limitations for car theft expired. You're still looking at eight to 10 years of close surveillance every time a similar case like yours come up."

Of course I knew. It's the one thing Carmen had constantly nagged me for the last several weeks, telling me that if I wanted some peace and quiet for the next few years, I shouldn't have taunted the Feds with the finger prints. But knowing means being better prepared.

"You're right. The FBI will find every excuse to haul me back into jail for the next decade and, like it or not, they're going to drag you in, too." Her face hardened and I could sense her prepare herself to argue with me. "You didn't actually think I'd wait that long, did you?"

We'd barely managed to be apart for a couple of weeks. A year would kill us.

She sat down on the bed, a unyielding expression on her face. "I'm not going to be one of your alibis."

"I know." The prospect of covering up for me was the one thing that really bugged her. She had too much integrity to let herself be used by some scumbag like me. The only reason that she didn't turn me in was because she had incomplete information. She wouldn't be so forgiving the next time I tried to pull something that would implicate her in any way.

"If the FBI asks me, I'm going to tell them whatever I know," she said. "I won't lie for you."

"You won't have to. If you let me, I can ensure you that the Feds will never touch or come near you again. There is a way where you can refuse to testify for or against me but you'll have to do to something first."

Something she wouldn't have considered, something that's been on my mind since L.A.

"Like what?" she huffed, still annoyed but less agitated, her panic temporarily receding.

I knew she'd immediately reject what I had in mind, but we had very limited choices.

"Marry me."

**XXX**

**Oy yay! Review, sweetthings.  
**

**The next chapter won't take three months, maybe just a week or a few days. **

**I hate to say goodbye but it's also going to be the last.**


	18. Chapter 18

EXPLICIT, ILLICIT, CRAPPY, A BIT SAPPY, NOT MINE.

**FILL IN THE BLANKS.**

**O_O  
**

_**Present day...**_

"In the kitchen."

She drops her bag on the sofa, takes off her peacoat and dumps it there, too. She kicks off her shoes as she makes her way to the kitchen, unclipping her gunbelt and putting her .45 caliber pistol – standard issue – on the island table.

I watch her, from the moment she opens the front door until she stops in front of me. Plain gray pants, white silk-charmeuse blouse, suede platform pumps. Confident, classy, sexy as hell.

Meet Agent Isabella Marie Swan, special investigator to the New York County District Attorney's Office Rackets Bureau. Her unit conducts long term investigations into the corrupt activities of criminal enterprises, specializing on state-organized crime relations.

Highly ironic, considering she's married to me.

She married me several months after she swore to "support and defend the Constitution" as a Federal agent. It wasn't easy convincing her. When I first asked her, I knew she was going to fight me all the way. She abhorred the concept of marriage, to me or to anyone else. A cynic at the age of ten, she thought of marriage as a social obligation that she should avoid at all costs, lest she ends up like her mother who could never be satisfied with one man. Or her father who couldn't be with anyone else even years after his wife left him.

But I was a persistent bastard and in the end, I got her to agree into spending the rest of her life with me. Marriage provided us an impenetrable bubble, a safe haven from the outside. Inside, she got instant spousal immunity and I got Chief Swan and the entire fucking Forks off my back. True, it's not without shades of being convenient but aren't all marriages made of conveniences in one way or the other?

She drove a hard bargain. As my wife, she insisted on keeping her name, as well as separate bank accounts, cars and whatever material possession she can maintain solely as her own. She declared her work off limits to me, only marginally caring if I supported it or not.

I don't care. It makes no difference to me what she does. There's only one thing I need from her and I'd made it very, very clear from the beginning. I get to fuck her. A lot. I expect a copious amount of sex in my marriage, everything else is on the table. She thought it was a joke at first, but I'd long proved to her otherwise.

In exchange, I promised her I'd play nice. I told her I won't interfere in her work if she doesn't want me to. I'll back off and remove most of the surveillance I have on her, only insisting on being informed on her dangerous assignments.

I withdrew all of my operations within her area of responsibility. When she moves, I shift. When she comes too close, I step back. But when she's otherwise occupied, I push. It's like sleeping next to live wire, but so far it had worked out well for both us.

Lucky for me, she decided early on to steer clear of organized auto theft rings. Save for a short stint in drug enforcement in Kentucky, she prefers solving white collar crimes – little white puzzles she can analyze over and over because yes, she has a thing for complicated, hard-to-figure criminals.

**xxx**

She kisses me thoroughly – bit of tongue, a little biting – just the way I like it. My hands go under her blouse, skimming over her bra line. She smells awfully like formadehyde, but I don't care.

"Tough day?" I ask her when she breaks to take a breath.

"Hmmmm," she sighs, burrowing into my shirt. She complains that I always smell like sex, but I think she's secretly addicted to it. "You could say that."

"Heard about it on the radio," I say, referring to the arrest of her suspect, a property manager wanted for stealing properties in lower Manhattan. The idiot had tried to kill his way out of his felony, living a trail of dead bodies in his wake.

"Someone tipped the bureau that one of his bookkeepers was trying to slip out of state. We caught up with him and his boss near the Canadian border," she says, looking up at me." You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Straight to the point, as always. But yes, no, maybe.

Sometime before we got married, she'd made it very clear that I can only interfere with her cases under very special circumstances. Or else she was going to make my life a living hell, mainly by staying away. She has the uncanny ability of knowing when I stick my nose where I'm not supposed to so I try my hardest not to meddle.

This time, though. her suspect was getting desperate and things were increasing getting dangerous for her and her team. Lucky for her, I was well-connected in certain exclusive circles, one of which included a certain senator who's fond of using shady realtors. It didn't take me long to convince the good senator to give both the idiot and his bookie up. Everyone knows I'm not very fond of people who make things difficult for my wife.

She moves away from me when I don't answer and wanders towards the oven.

"You made pie," she observes.

"Lemon," I tell her, her favorite food of all time. She raises a brow but doesn't repeat her question so I guess I haven't shot myself in the balls. Yet. "How about you go change? I'll call you when dinner's ready."

I don't pilfer information from my sources for the DA to do the right thing and play hero. I do it for purely selfish reasons. I want my wife home safely – in our bed, naked and writhing under me.

Plus, ratting out the underworld had its own definitive advantage. Bella guards her integrity jealously, almost to the point of irrationality. It's very hard for her to accept the fact that, on occasion, I could be of some use to her and her profession. She doesn't want to be indebted to me in anyway, so she insist that I get a reward for my efforts. I collect, of course. I'm no saint.

For my first reward, I asked for a small, simple tattoo. On her. A C-clef, made for the middle-C, a key found near the center of the keyboard of a piano. It's low that I should coerce her into getting a tattoo since she hates needles with a passion. But I wanted a tatt so I got one. She picked the spot – the area under her ankle bone. I bought the necessary equipment and supplies and marked her myself as she lay on our bed, grasping our sheets with her eyes squeezed shut, enduring the pain of the needle in silence.

The next one was harder. She'd picked the design, a rising dragon which she half-jokingly said represented me. I picked the spot – on her hipbone, down to the crease of her thighs because where else would I want my mark to be if not on her pussy? She balked at first, and it took me a long time to convince her again. She balked again when she saw the tattoo chair I bought for the purpose, saying it looked like a torture machine and she didn't want it inside our bedroom. The next day, I bought and sealed off an entire building, demolishing the last of her excuses. She insisted on being drugged to blunt the pain so I gave her the "safest" (or at least the least dangerous) combination that would make her feel nothing and forget everything the next day – opiates combined with crystal meth, followed by ecstasy to soften the eventual crash. I made it very clear to her how the drugs could temporarily fry her brain with dopamine, lower her inhibitions and make her more aggressive, wilder. She said yes and endured hours of out-of-control sexual mania that refused to abate no mater how hard or how many times I fucked her.

She survived the ordeal, the chair didn't.

Best day of my life.

**xxx**

She comes out of our bedroom half an hour later, wearing a clinging yellow tanktop and low, comfortable shorts that show the dragon tatt on her hip. Barefoot, she makes her way to the counter and leans against me to snag a peeled carrot. She presses into my arm and I breathed in the clean scent of the soap she uses.

Better, much better.

"I've thought about it...," she says, taking a bite out of her carrot.

I hide a smile. "In the shower?" Looks like I get my reward, after all.

"How much is it going to hurt?"

"I have no idea."

She leans back against the counter, rests her elbows behind her and thrusts her chest out. I can see her nipples hard against her shirt, the outline of her perky breasts, the taunt stomach, the long, creamy legs. She shifts on one foot and smirks, waiting...

I jump her. I can't help it. She knows what she does to me. She kisses me back and closes her eyes as I kiss her down her neck, tangling her fingers on my hair, allowing me to welcome her home properly.

"Am I going to need drugs?"

"Definitely." I moved my hands to pull her up and she wraps her legs around my waist instinctively. I set her down the counter, pushing her backwards.

"That bad?" she gasps as I bite a nipple over her shirt.

"Worse." I guide one of her hands into my pants, rubbing her palm against my hard-on. I've been a good little boy and she owes me.

She laughs as she reaches down, letting the tips of her nails drag gently over the head of my cock. I suck in a sharp breath as the first droplet of cum ooze from the tip.

She latches on my neck and starts to suck gently and...fuck...

"How about I fuck you instead ?" she offers, as she wraps her hand around my shaft. She starts to pump idly, hard enough to draw a growl but not enough to make me come. I close my eyes and let her pleasure me, breathing in the scent of her hair, her newly washed skin...

"You can...damn...fuck me for ..cooking dinner...ah shit...harder...you can...fuck me... ungh...again...later...for dessert."

"I thought we were having pie." She's laughing, the tease.

"Lemon...yeah...fuck...that too..."

More pre-cum ooze from my cock and damn, fucking damn it. If I don't get hold of myself, I'm going come in my fucking pants.

She smears the liquid over the my cock and loosens her hold. I grit my teeth together, lifting my pelvis to in protest but she only laughs and pulls her hand away.

I open my eyes in time to see her suck her fingers into her mouth, pulling them out with an obscene popping sound, the digits gleaming with her saliva as she breaks into a lascivious grin.

"Hmmmm...better than pie," she leers. She's gotten good at teasing me over the years and not that I don't appreciate it but it drives me insane.

I grasp her wrist, jerking her down from the counter and to her knees. Yanking my pants open, I switched positions so I lean against the counter and she kneels before me, her head right against my crotch. With a marked shaking of her shoulders, she opens her mouth, her tongue darting out to flicker over my cock.

I tilt my hips, urging her to open up and suck me in deep and . . .fuck, yesss...

**xxx**

"So how was Germany?" she asks, when we finally get to eating dinner. We'd managed to work up a nice appetite after discovering another creative use of the kitchen counter, one of the dining chairs and the kitchen island table.

"Fine, I suppose," I tell her, "but I wouldn't actually know. I was in Prague."

Rule of the house: Do not ask your spouse if he's been to Germany when several Ferraris go missing there. Chances are, he'll have an alibi ready.

"How's Jasper?"

"I don't know, haven't seen him since Christmas dinner," I smile at her. "But nice try, Agent Swan."

Christmases were spent in Forks, with Jasper and Alice coming in from New Jersey, and me and Bella coming from wherever we are at that time. It was the only time we were seen in public together, as Jasper and I generally prefer to conduct our business under layers of alibis or over encrypted lines.

I'd long decided not to tell her anything – plausible deniability and all that shit. Of course, she still tries to pull information every once in a while, lest she be accused of going easy on me.

"And the new Veyrons?"

"They're coming out nicely."

A few years back, I decided I needed a stronger front for my. . . business. Hence, I became Herr Edward Cullen, owner of Bugatti Automobiles, the same company that comes up with the highly specialized Veyrons I happen to like so much. Bella couldn't believe I'd buy a company I'd stolen from. But I genuinely like the cars so I figured a little legitimacy won't hurt me.

"So, are you going to tell me what you want?" she asks, going back to our earlier conversation. Bella is nothing but doggedly determined, even when it goes against her better judgement. She'd been willing to indulge me in a lot of things as part of our agreement but I know she's going to balk, if not get mad, at the one I had in mind.

"I want us to have a child," I tell her, simply, directly.

She stops mid-chew and lowers her spoon slowly. She says nothing for a long time and I know that she's trying very hard not to say no, that's not happening anytime soon.

"Why?" she asks, a neutral expression on her face.

"I'm a rich man, I need an heir."

In the larger scheme of things, it's true. I need someone to carry on my empire.

She stares at me for a long minute, then shakes her head. "That has got to be the lamest excuse ever."

"Isn't the biological need to procreate excuse enough?"

She leans back on her chair and gives me her don't-bullshit-me look. "What are you up to?"

_Aside from the usual? _"Nothing."

"There's always something with you, so spill."

"There is nothing else," I insisted, "I simply want us to have children."

"Are you bored? Aren't you happy?" _Ah, here we go. _"Do you want me to stop working for the FBI? Dammit, Edward, we've been through this."

"No, I am not bored," I tell her calmly. "I am ridiculously happy, I don't give a fuck that you're working for the FBI and I told you before not to ask me those stupid questions."

She sits in stony silence, trying to decide if I'm serious or not. I tell her every so often that I don't care what she does. She can even come after me if she wants to and I'd still come home to her.

"Don't you want to have at least one?"

"I don't know." She sighs, her shoulders slumping and for a moment, I'm tempted to reconsider.

"It's all right, we don't have to have them right away." I waited four years before I got her to sign some paper saying she's my wife, I can well wait a fucking decade for her to make up her mind about having my brats. "I just want give you a – "

" – warning," she says, visibly softening. "I know."

It's more of a heads-up than a warning but I don't correct her. It's also a courtesy, so that the next time I ask her – a year or two from now – she won't be so surprised and suspicious. Just like when I asked her to marry me or when I talked to Chief Swan to tell him I was marrying his daughter. They both didn't take me seriously then, my future father-in-law, particularly. Imagine his surprise when his good daughter finally did. He couldn't say I didn't warn him.

Another thing about my wife is that when she starts to think about something, she'll think about it thoroughly. She'll leave all possibilities explored, all options weighed and graded. Between her propensity to suspect everything I want to do and my obsession to make the same things happen, we usually come up with a balanced decision.

"So why one?" she asks and goes back to eating. "Single children tend to be – "

" – bratty?"

"I was going to say psychotic."

"If you insist, we can have two," I say and she laughs in horrified amusement.

"Why not three?" she asks, like we're talking about replacing the broken chairs we have lying around due to what she calls my proclivity to misuse furniture. "You're a rich man, you can afford them."

"We're not buying our kids, sweetheart."

"Of course not. That'd would be too easy."

"It will still be too easy for me, even if we did have them" I tell her. "I'm asking you because you're going to carry them, not me."

Otherwise, I would've just knocked her up.

"Getting me pregnant with your brats is not going to get me off the field."

"No, but it'll take you out for a time." There's no a point in keeping that particular motive from her. She already figured it out, anyway. "And they're going to be your brats, too."

"You'll have to take your share of childcare. I'm not raising them while you gallivant around the globe with your merry band of thieves," she says and I laugh, really laugh, because damn, the girl can be so artless when she's taking a dig at me.

"I'm a concert pianist," I point out reasonably. "I have commitments everywhere."

"So you say," she snorts. "Having kids is different from, you know, going at it all the time, and I'm not so sure about it. I'm just starting to figure things out and I don't want to bring someone into this madness."

"We're married, not mad." Blissfully, for two years now.

"We're not? Look at us. I'm FBI and you're a thief."

"_Retired _thief."

"And I'm Mother Theresa," she snickers.

"Why now? Why this? Can't you ask for something else?" she whines and shakes her head. "If we had kids, they are going to be so messed up."

Maybe, probably. But I figured, with her as their mother, they have a shot of turning out right. "Just think about it."

She knows I'm not actually obligating her. She just likes to think so.

"Fine," she sighs, finally conceding. "Why do you always have to have your way?" .

It's an illusion, I've tried to tell her once. I know what she wants, even if she's not ready to want it yet. Despite our glaring differences, we're actually more alike than most married couples. We both know and go after what we want, which - most times - turn out to be the same thing. I just get to it before she does.

"I'll think about it but I'm not saying yes."

_Yet. _I smile at her. "That's all I ask."

After dinner, I tell her to go ahead while I clean up the table and kitchen. She rolls her eyes, knowing I'm not being gallant by letting her off, not after being away for five days.

Later, I find her sprawled on the bed, watching Rachel Weiss seduce Ralph Fiennes on the big screen we have in our room. She'd put a movie on, one of the boring ones she likes so much. I chuck out of my clothes and sprawl beside her, cupping her breasts under her shirt, grinding against her not too subtly. She ignores my advance, engrossed in Ralph Fiennes horticultural exploits.

One of her favorite words is "wait," and she says it as I wriggle around shamelessly. "Wait...I'm watching...wa-wa-wa-wa-wait..."

I kiss her neck and tell her I love her. She giggles, looks at me with sceptical amusement, then promptly brushes me off, having heard me say the same words countless of times. The words don't fit me, they go against everything that I am but she is my one, true exception and she deserves to hear them.

"How the hell am I ever going to finish any movie with you around?" she grouches as I reach for the remote to turn the damn movie off. She wrestles me for it, her tight, agile body crashing against mine. She has great reflexes and good timing but I'm bigger and stronger and in no time I pin her down, trapping her under me.

"You're such an ass," she tells me, laughing, as I set to getting her naked, "but I love you, too."

**END OF THE LINE.**

**That's it. I've had my smutty fun, and I'd like to think you've had yours, too.**

**To Maylin, yellowglue, eviekins, wime, domysticated, sharkjumper, veeblanc, maristella, lisamichelle and everyone out there who took a moment to read, review, rec, tweet, talk or just think about Rideward, Comaward, Heistward , to those who took time to read and rec the story on their pages, tweets and stories, thank you so much.  
**

**I'm going to miss you, guys.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Sometimes, the urge to write hits me.**

**Cheers.**

**XXX**

"Edward – "

A month, two weeks and three days. She'd been holed up in Quantico for that long, going through a special training because she'd been drafted to join a detail on the field.

"In a minute."

She's on her last two weeks of training and all she'd needed was one last cram session before her final exams. But he'd been nagging her for days, chaffing at her schedules, so she'd wrangled an overnight pass from her commanding officer. She'd been working hard, anyway, so she tells herself that deserves a break.

"You want anything?"

She'd agreed to meet him at a restaurant for dinner, before going to the hotel he'd been staying since he arrived the day before.

"I don't know..."

It's a Monday and there's not much occurring around town, let alone the restaurant. There's a birthday party on the second floor, but the rest of the place is empty. Even so, the restaurant's tables and chairs are neatly aligned, its staff and crew in a busy buzz, waiting for prospective clients.

"Yes, you do."

"No... I don't."

He'd managed to book the most secluded space on the highest floor of the restaurant; a room generally reserved for couples in the brink of committing. They'd already been served their aperitifs and their waiter waits, a bell-call away, ready to take their next order. The wine is open, its fizz filling two long-stemmed glasses, but they're not really drinking.

"Think, Bella."

"I can't..."

"Can't what?"

"I can't...think."

On one side, the windows of the private room framed a romantic view of the Quantico mountains. The walls are painted in soft brown tones, casting a comfortable darkness around the room. The door, locked for the moment, shields them from the noise outside.

"Try."

"Ummm..."

He'd pick her up from the training base in a chauffeured car. Rolls Royces aren't made to be self-driven, or so he'd told her when she teased him that he just wanted to have use of both his hands. True enough, the presence of the driver hadn't stopped him. Lucky for him, she'd worn a short, red dress with a flaring skirt under her military-gray trenchcoat. He'd flown across the world just to see her and the least she can do is give him something to stare at during dinner.

"Pick an order..."

"Umm..."

"Just one."

In the privacy of the room they'd been ushered in, she finds herself gripping the table, looking at the glossy menus but not seeing anything.

"I don't... I can't..."

She finds it hard, almost impossible, to focus on the menu when a hand is squeezing her breast under her dress and another is creeping under her underwear. She gives a little gasp as his fingers start probing her pussy, teasing, rubbing. Her skirt had ridden up her waist and she had her legs tangled with his. She presses her back into him, and the chair they're on gives a little squeak.

"Yes, yes, you can."

When his fingers finally plunges into her core, she comes up with an answer.

"Brisket...they have brisket.."

"You sure?"

"Yes," she hisses under her breath.

His breath in her ear, combined with his probing digits, brings her to the edge and pushes her over. He covers her mouth with his hand as she cries out her climax, her body shaking. She notices, belatedly, his cock pulsing against her thigh and ass. She hadn't realized he's stripped enough for their naked flesh to touch. She jerks her hips, creating enough friction to cause him to moan.

"Up."

She stands on wobbly legs, and he strips down her panties with military efficiency before whirling her around so she can face him. Feet apart, he pulls her right him, impaling her with his cock. He plunges deep, as deep as the chair permits him, and they moan in mutual satisfaction.

"Deeper."

"Hmm?"

"Go...ahhh...deeper."

He shifts, and presses into her, until he's buried deep, all the way inside.

"Motherfuck...," he grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut as she grips his hips with her thighs. She rocks into him, her heels digging into his ankles as she balances herself on the tips of her shoes. He groans when she starts to move in a familiar rhythmn and it takes everything in him not to cum in one minute.

"You feel so good, baby."

"You, too," she gasps and he shivers at the desperate need in her voice.

"Yeah?" he nips on her lips as she kisses him with a hunger that matches his. Her mouth is as hard, as bruising as his as they attack each other – lips, jaw neck, shoulders, ears.

"Tell me..."

"You...ahhh, shit," she gasps as his mouth latches on a breast and his teeth sink into the fabric.

"Say it," he demands, as a hand pulls on her clothes roughly, his hand covering after his mouth, squeezing and pulling on her tits, as his mouth leave marks all over her skin. "Say how good this feels..."

"S'good...," she fights for breath, as the familiar tide of emotions wash over her. "Oh, God, I missed you."

"Me, too. Fuck, me, too."

"Oh, God...Edward, ahh...ahhh..."

"Yeah, that's it, baby, thats it...Fuck, I love you." He murmurs and croons words of encouragement as she rides him, his hands hard on her hips. His hips roll in sync to hers, aiding her, pushing her to the brink..

"Oh, God..."

The world retreats as he watches her face as her orgasm takes over. Head thrown back, eyes closed, tits thrusted out – she's completely oblivious of her surroundings, conscious only of his cock deep inside her, stretching her walls to its limits. He holds her as as she shivers against him, her nails digging through his shirt.

It takes a while before the spasms stop and she slumps against his shoulder. It takes more before she's able to turn her unfocused eyes on him.

"Told you dinner wasn't a good idea," she murmurs, giving him a slightly loopy smile.

He would've disagreed, if he'd been capable of speech and if the pain in his balls hadn't been killing him.

She gives a surprised yelp when he stands up abruptly – his hands on her ass, his cock buried inside her. The chair crashes to the floor and she laughs, gripping his waist instinctively with her legs. Holding on to his shoulders, she snickers a word into his ear and he shivers at the low promise. A few steps and he pins her to the wall. He starts to move, and she kicks off her shoes and stops laughing. Lovesick muttering are replaced with groans, grunts and motherfuckers as he takes what he wants, demands that she does likewise, and they fall into each other all over again.

It doesn't take much to send him over the edge – a squeeze, a scrape and he's there. He comes – hard, deep and vocal – and she's swept away in a whirl of sensations alongside him.

It's only when he comes out of his trance later that he feels a twinge of guilt. He'd slammed his wife against the wall – messed up her neatly combed hair, bruised her perfectly shaped mouth, all but erased the light make-up she'd painstaking put on for his benefit – all without care to her welfare. But she's smiling the smile that says she doesn't give a shit and she's happy to be there and fuck it all, _he's_ happy that's she's there, too. He can't seem to wipe the stupid smile off his face.

Her eyes sweep the room, noting the evidence of their frenzied union – the fallen chair, the shoes and her underwear, littering the floor. She pits them against the perfectly-set table and pristine décor, the elegant and majestic ambiance, and starts laughing.

"Damn, how'd you find this place?"

He tells her a friend had told him about it and that it had come highly recommended. But he doesn't tell her that he'd booked the entire place for the evening, that the staff had canceled all reservations save for the birthday party downstairs, and that he'd instructed everyone not to disturb them.

"We should've just ordered room service," she says, shaking her head at him, as if to say he should've known better. They could have, he agrees, but he'd been trying to be romantic.

He watches her fix herself, gracefully sliding her hands over her body as she smooths out her hair and her dress. She picks up her discarded panties on the floor, and with a laugh, chucks the fabric at him. He catches it with a hand and puts them in his pocket. They're red and damp and he's going to find a use for them later.

They manage to put on a semblance of propreity and resume their dinner. Brisket and for dessert, chocolate diablo cake for two.

"Did the deal push through?" she asks when coherent enough to remember that he'd flown from Sant'Agata, Bolognese, where he'd been negotiating his way through owning half the production line of Lambhorginis. At least he's not stealing them, anymore. Or so she hopes.

"Don't know," he answers. "Carmen and the guys were still at it when I left."

"Really? You're not done yet? So what?–" she looks at him in genuine surprise.

" – am I doing here?" he cocks an eyebrow at her. "Am I not allowed to visit my wife when I miss her?"

She narrows her eyes at him. They both endure the hardship of separation because of their obligations. Or, at least, she does. God knows what he's doing but she knows him well enough to assume that he wouldn't abandon something as crucial as a company take-over without an overriding reason.

"You're not in trouble, are you?"

He laughs and tells her no. He also tells her that no, nothing's happened to Jasper and Alice either and yes, everything's fine with everything on his end, and in the world in general.

"It's not your birthday..."

"No, it's not," he answers drily. "But you did forget that one, too."

Her eyes widen. "Shit...it's not August already, is it?"

"August 2," he tells her and watches as suprise, apology, then guilt flicker across her face. She'd been working hard the past weeks, sometimes too hard. Friends, family and even him, had taken a backseat.

"Don't worry about it," he says, reaching out for her hand and twining her fingers with his. "It doesn't matter."

He doesn't mind that she forgets dates or that he has to chase her around the country for a quickie. What gets to him is the fact that each visit ends too soon for his liking and each time it does, he finds it harder to say goodbye to her. He doesn't have to tell her that he'd spent hours staring at calendars and clocks, trying to figure out ways how two people so diametrically opposed in work and status can be together as much as possible.

"I should've remembered," she sighs, squeezing his fingers in apology.

"Yes, you should have," he agrees, then smiles. "Then you wouldn't have to think of an excuse for an overnight pass other than your husband is horny."

She gives him a laugh,tinged with a little sadness, and tells him that she doubts her commanding officer would've understood. But who knows, she adds, she could've been wrangled a 24-hour pass if she'd told the brute the occasion.

"Doesn't matter," he tells her again, meaning it. He'll take whatever she can give him.

"I'll make it up to you," she promises, her incorruptible sense of fairness kicking in. He shrugs, and says nothing. As far as he's concerned, she'd already more than made up for forgetting. But he's not one to turn down an offer, either, especially if it meant a free rein on her schedule.

"I'll think of something," he says when she lapses into an expectant silence. Tugging on her hand, he pulls her towards him and into his lap. "Forget about it for now."

She curls against him and he takes the chance to breathe in the scent of her hair. Silence settle around them and for a moment, it's almost enough.

He moves after a while, but only to press a gentle, almost chaste, kiss on her lips.

"Another year," he muses, smiling down at her. "Imagine that."

"Yeah," she smiles back and holds him just a bit tighter. "Imagine that."

"Happy anniversary."

**XXX**

**Thanks for reading. :)**


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